Dalton Academy: Correctional Facility
by Ikazuchi Touketsu
Summary: When Jeff is sent to the juvenile correctional facility known as Dalton Academy he meets the ultimate bad boy, Nick Romano, who is head of a renowned prison gang called the Warblers. At first, Nick comes off as nothing but a heartless criminal. But as Jeff gets to know Nick, he finds that there is more to this bad boy than meets the eye.
1. Roommate

**I came up with this idea for a new fanfic a little while ago and finally decided to try and write it. I hope you like it! **

**Note: It's rated M JUST IN CASE. I don't think I'm planning any smut. You know, unless you want smut...**

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><p>The car pulled up to the massive building called Dalton Academy. Jeff peered out the tinted windows from the back seat of the police car, awe-struck at the sight.<p>

It was huge! And so very fancy. _This_ was the correctional school known as Dalton Academy? _This_ was where Jeff was going to stay for committing a crime? He had imagined stone walls, metal bars, dreary cells, and electric fences. This building had none of those things. It looked incredibly nice, actually. Like a mansion.

Maybe staying here for two years won't be so bad?

His assigned officer, Officer Smith, got out of the car and moved around to help the handcuffed Jeff from where he sat in the back seat. He wasn't very gentle and clutched Jeff's arm with a painful iron grasp, as though he figured the blonde convict would try to run.

Everyone treated him this way since the crime. He was used to it by now, but he wished they would just trust him already. Thoughts of running or escaping never even crossed his mind. He'd attempted nothing of the sort since they first arrested him.

Officer Smith led Jeff inside silently. The man didn't even try to mask his hatred for Jeff, it seemed. His face was stony and he refused to even make eye contact with Jeff. He was nothing but a juvenile delinquent in his eyes, after all. Why bother communicating with him?

Jeff knew he was innocent. He'd insisted his innocence every time someone questioned him. But everyone thought he was guilty. Even his own family believed in his guilt. They never even bothered to defend their son from all the allegations against him. They let the cops do their jobs, and never once stepped in.

They were probably so ashamed to be his parents right now.

Officer Smith let Jeff to a huge metal gate that lead to the entrance to Dalton. There was a red button, which he pressed, located beside the gate. Speakers buzzed somewhere above them, perched on the top of the spiked ten-foot gate. "Identification?"

Officer Smith held up his badge. "Officer Smith," he said. "I'm here with Jeff Griffin."

The gates clicked and eased open a moment later. Officer Smith proceeded, dragging Jeff along with him. They were let inside the building by a few guards and one guard led them through huge corridors to the front office. Officer Smith greeted the well-dressed man behind the front desk, took the handcuffs off of Jeff's wrists, and bowed out.

The man stood and greeted Jeff. "Hello, Jeffery. I've been waiting for you."

That sounded almost ominous.

He walked around the desk to stand before Jeff. "I'm Principal Darke. I'm in charge of this school," he went on. "First and foremost, I want to warn you—don't try any funny ideas. We have very tight security around here. You won't get away with it."

"I wasn't even thinking about it, sir," Jeff said politely. You could get out early for good behavior, right?

He didn't seem to buy it. "Alright, Jeffery. You will be staying in Dalton for two years. You can get out in 18 months if you keep up this 'good-boy' attitude." He told him. "Dalton is like any other school. You will wake up on weekdays and attend your usual academic classes. Afterwards, we have a number of recovery programs and help courses to help you rehabilitate."

So, like alcoholism courses? Drug addictions? Jeff had none of those problems…

"When you're all finished with those classes, then you can take part in recreational activities in the Rec Hall or schoolyard, or you can return to your dorm room," Darke told him. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jeff said clearly.

"Good." He leaned over his desk to read a scrap of paper. "Your dorm is room 236 on the second floor." He tossed a key attached to a lanyard to Jeff. "There's the key to your room."

Jeff pulled it around his neck. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Come with me," he ordered, walking to the door. "I'll show you to your dorm."

…

Jeff was glad that Principal Darke showed him the way to his room, for he would have surely gotten lost if he tried to find his way there on his own. This place seemed larger on the inside than the outside, if that was possible.

Inside the dorm room was plain, as you'd expect for a boarding school dorm. The floor was carpeted and there were two bunk beds, a dresser, a bookshelf, and a bathroom through a door in the left corner of the room.

Upon entering, Jeff noticed someone else in the room. He was a boy, probably about Jeff's age, sitting atop one of the bunk beds in the room. He had dark hair that was medium length and curly bangs across his forehead. He glanced toward the door as Darke entered with Jeff.

"Oh, hey, Principal Darke," he greeted casually. "What brings you to the remote upstairs dormitories?"

"Nick," Darke greeted in a hard voice. It already sounded like he didn't like this kid. "This is Jeffery. He's you're new roommate."

Nick looked at Jeff for a moment. "Great," he said blandly.

Darke cleared his throat. "Nick," he said suddenly, his voice stern. "Hand them over."

Nick blinked innocently. "Hand what over?"

"The cigarettes," he said. "Now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I can _smell _them in here, Nick," he growled, his voice raising. "Don't play stupid. Hand them over, NOW."

Nick seemed to hesitate, then sighed. "Fine," he muttered in bitter defeat, reaching under the pillow. He tossed a pack of cigarettes to Principal Darke. "There."

"The lighter?"

Nick rolled his eyes and grudgingly tossed the lighter as well.

"You've earned a week's worth of detention," Darke informed him. "And no dessert for a week. Also, you'll be taking the tobacco awareness and smoking rehabilitation class starting on Monday.

Nick groaned. "How's that fair? I handed them over, didn't I?"

"Yes, but this is the third time in a month I've caught you with cigarettes," he grunted. "Just try not to corrupt your new roommate." He turned to leave.

"No promises," Nick called out after him. Once the door closed, Nick jumped from the top bunk to the floor below and moved across the room to the other bunk bed. He reached into the pillow case of the upper bunk and waved a fresh, new box of cigarettes in Jeff's direction. "Flint always has a few extra packs," he said casually. He snatched up a lighter from the window sill and lit one up.

"Flint?" Jeff echoed.

"Other roommate." He took a long drag on the cigarette. He blew the smoke from his mouth and looked to Jeff. "Want one?" He held out the box of smokes.

"No thanks," Jeff said, shaking his head.

"What? Don't smoke?" Nick guessed.

"No."

Nick shrugged. "Great. More for me, then, goodie two-shoes." He took another drag. "So what's your full title, blondie?"

"Um…Jeff Griffin?" Title meant name, right? He couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the awful, rancid stench of the cancer stick in Mr. Bad-boy's hand.

"Ah," Nick murmured. "I'd go with Griffin. Jeff is a terrible name. It'll do nothing for your rep here."

Jeff raised his eyebrows. "And Nick is a tough guy name?" he challenged.

Nick glared at him. "It's better than Jeff," he snapped. He cooled off with yet another puff on the cancer stick. "I'm just saying…if you have a cool last name like Griffin, I'd use it to my advantage. A good reputation is everything around here."

"Thanks, but no," he said. "I'll stick with Jeff." He tried to sound nice. He wasn't really looking to fit in with this crowd of criminally challenged teenagers.

"Fine," Nick said. "Suit yourself." He put out the cigarette by smashing it against the wall and then flicking it into a trash can.

Shocking that this place hasn't burned down yet, if these people do that often…

"I'm going to the Rec Hall," Nick announced. "Come if you want to meet some of the other guys. You're less likely to get booed if you're with me."

Jeff wondered if 'booed' was slang for anything around here… "Sure," he agreed. It was better than facing them all alone. He was definitely far from bad, and the others would probably quickly pick up on it. He didn't expect they'd treat someone like him all too well.

Nick led the way to the Rec Hall, which was on the first floor. It was a very large room, easily six times larger than the dorm rooms. There were a few sofas scattered around the room, a flatscreen television on one wall, some table games, and there was a section of computers in the corner.

Yeah, this place was still unbelievable nice for a correctional boarding school. There were teenage boys everywhere talking to one another, playing video games, or just lounging about.

Nick approached one particular group of guys who were lounging lazily on one of the sets of leather sofas. "Hey, guys. What's up?" he greeted them casually. He motioned to Jeff. "Meet the new guy. His name is Griffin."

"Actually, it's Jeff—"

"He rooms with me," Nick went on. He made it sound almost like a complaint.

"Sup, Griffin?" one of them greeted. "What's your story? How'd you wind up here in Dalton?"

"Yeah, what'd you do?"

Nick laughed. "Don't get your hopes up, guy," he eased the group. "Blondie here is a bit of a wuss. He doesn't even smoke."

They laughed and Jeff frowned to himself. He wanted to tell the truth and that he had been framed…but that definitely wouldn't help him out here. These were tough guys who would probably give him hell if they thought he was too 'spineless' to commit a crime. "I robbed an electronic store," he lied. "…with a knife."

"How much cash did you loot?" a dark-haired boy asked.

"Almost seven-hundred dollars," Jeff answered.

"That's nothing," Nick scoffed. He stepped closer to an Asian boy with short black hair. "Wes here is an arsonist. He lit up some dude's house and burnt it to the ground."

Wes nodded. "They guy had the nerve to hit my dog with his car," he muttered. "So I decided to fight back."

_By burning his house down? _

"And David," Nick went on, "hijacked a car. When the cops caught him, he socked one of 'em right in the face."

David grinned. "I wasn't going to just roll over and show them my belly."

Nick moved along to another boy who was about his height with spiked up dark brown hair. "Thad here beat up some guy with a garden rake."

"I was charged with assault and battery with a deadly weapon," Thad said. "It wasn't even that bad, but the bastard had to go and whine to the cops."

Yikes. These guys were actually pretty hardcore, if they were telling the truth!

"Our roommate, Flint, got caught dealing some drugs," Nick told Jeff. "It was just some dope and speed, so it wasn't too bad. He has to go to some lame recovery class about drug addiction every other day, so we won't see him 'til later."

"You should hear what Nick did!" David cut in. "His story is the best one."

"Aw, I don't want to scare pretty boy, here," Nick said a little sneeringly. "Remember that we're sharing a room. He'll probably get nightmares."

Jeff wasn't sure that he really wanted to know, but the offence of that last statement made him feel a little defensive. "I can handle it," he muttered.

That earned him some mocking laughter from the group. Thad spoke up, "Come on. Tell him. What's the harm in roughing the new guy up a bit?"

"I don't know…" Nick stalled further.

"He knifed a guy," David finally said for Nick. "It was an 8-inch pocket knife."

"He stabbed the guy right in the gut," Thad stepped in excitedly. "Punctured some organ or something and the guy almost died."

Jeff looked at Nick who looked back with a smirk. "This is true," he said boastfully.

"Why?" Jeff blurted out. He couldn't imagine _why _someone would do such a thing.

Nick was silent for a long moment, looking at the other guys as if he figured they would answer for him. When they said nothing, Nick shrugged. "The guy was messin' with me," he answered casually.

_And so you STABBED him? _If the story was true, then this Nick guy had some serious anger management issues!

Jeff concealed his shock as best he could. He didn't belong here. He was innocent. He'd never committed a crime in his life! The worst thing he'd ever done might be skipping school, or getting drunk at a party when he was 15. These guys…were just plain criminal.

"Oh yeah," Nick said. "Forgot to tell you our title."

"Your title…?"

"Our gang," Nick said. "Me, Wes, David, Thad, and Flint. We call ourselves the Warblers."

"Um… Isn't that a songbird?" Jeff pointed out. For a gang, that was an awfully docile name.

"Yep." Nick nodded. "We didn't want a clichéd name. Everyone else has stupid names, like 'The Wolves' and 'The Bandits' and 'The Blood Pact.' Ours is like a counter-name. The soft little songbirds, even though we're the toughest gang around here," Nick said. "No one touches us."

_Ah, clever, _Jeff thought. _Really. Kudos to you…_

"So, you want to join?" Nick suggested randomly.

The others burst out into objections before Jeff could even process the question. "What? No!"

"Let _him _in? But he's a pussy!"

"He'll ruin our reputation."

"No one would want him! _Look _at him!"

"Shut up!" Nick snapped with a vicious edge to his voice. "_I _say who joins. I don't give a damn what you or the other gangs think! I'm in charge." He glared at them threateningly. "I can very well kick you out if I wish it, too."

The rest of the Warblers fell silent, not daring to say another word. Nick glared at them a moment longer before looking back to Jeff. "So? Want to join?"

"Um…" Jeff mumbled, uncertain. The others didn't exactly seem to like him. But on the other hand, it'd be better for him to start off immediately with the big bad gang. He would never have to worry about anyone else messing with him. If he was going to be here for two years, then that would be very useful. "Can I think about it?"

"Fine." Nick shrugged. "But if you _do _decide to join, we'll have to glorify your crime. Maybe…you robbed a jewelry store with a gun?" he suggested. "I don't know. We'll have to think about it."

_Glorify a crime I never committed? Cool. What a concept._

A voice came over the intercom. "Attention students," said a monotonous female voice. "Lights out is in 10 minutes. Please return to your dorm rooms immediately."

All the guys stood up and mumbled casual goodbyes to one another before parting. It was obvious that this was something they were completely used to, like this was just the regular routine. Jeff wondered how long they all had been here… He followed Nick back upstairs to their dorm room amidst a large crowd of many other teenage boys. Inside, they met with their other roommate, Flint.

He was a tall blonde and his hair fell a little longer than most, slightly slicked back. He greeted Nick casually with the 'sup nod' and glanced at Jeff. "Who's this?"

"New roommate," Nick answered. He went straight for the stash of cigs, snatching one from the box and lighting it up. "Want one?"

Flint nodded and Nick lit one up for him as well. He accepted the cigarette and took a long drag. "I haven't had a smoke all day," he sighed, breathing the smoke from his nose peacefully. "So, what's your name?" he asked Jeff.

"Jeff," he said. "Jeff Griffin. You're Flint, I presume?"

"That's me," he answered with a nod. He looked to Nick. "Haven't you offered him a cigarette?"

"I have," he said. "Pretty boy doesn't smoke."

"Oh." He seemed to consider that. "You don't know what you're missing out on, kiddo."

_Kiddo? We're probably the same age! _"Sorry," Jeff said. "I'm not looking to get cancer."

Flint laughed. "Don't be such a princess."

"More for us," Nick said with a shrug.

"True," Flint said dopily. "Man, I'm fried. That stupid rehabilitation class is a joke."

"I bet," Nick sympathized. "By the way, I've got to take one on smoking starting Monday. Darke caught me smoking again."

"That sucks." Flint climbed to the top bunk of his bed and flopped down.

"Um," Jeff cut in awkwardly. "Where do I sleep?"

"You can have the bunk under Nick," Flint decided.

"No way," Nick protested. "I had to show him around. You can deal with him."

Ouch. And Jeff had the impression that Nick maybe sort of liked him a little… Guess it looked like everyone hated him.

"I don't want him!" Flint said. "That's not even fair. I have to take those stupid rehabilitation classes. You can't blame me for that."

Nick sighed. "Fine. Rock-Paper-Scissors, then," he decided.

"Alright, you're on," Flint accepted. He leaned over the side of his bed with a fist. Nick faced him and they commenced with the epic battle of Rock-Paper-Scissors.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

Flint chose rock. Nick chose scissors.

"Yes!" Flint cheered loudly. "I win!"

Nick winced. "No wait," he protested. "Best two out of three!"

"No way," Flint said. "I won. You get to share with the prep."

Nick groaned. "Fine." He looked at Jeff. "I guess you'll sleep under me."

_Awesome. It's just what I wanted._

Jeff said nothing and plodded over to his designated bed sullenly. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed against the pillow with a sigh. He didn't even bother changing into pajamas. What was the point?

This place was awful. He was treated like more of a nuisance here than at home. Not to mention it was basically a correctional facility. He'd never broken a law in his life, besides drinking underage once in a while. Why did he have to be sent to this hellhole?

Nick seemed to notice Jeff's sudden blue mood. "Cheer up, blondie. I was just kidding around," he assured.

_Yeah. That really cheers me up. _Jeff simply rolled over to face the wall, ignoring Nick. The brunette obviously didn't like him. He'd already said as much. Jeff didn't need his empty sympathy.

"Aw, did we hurt your poor little feelings?" Flint mocked patronizingly. When Jeff ignored him, too, he scoffed. "God, he's such a fag."

"Shut up, Flint," Nick snapped. He put out his cigarette as he had earlier today against the wall and headed for his own bed. As he climbed to the top bunk, he said to Jeff, "G'night, Griffin."

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><p><strong>Remember to review! I need to know if its good enough to continue. Thanks for reading!<strong>


	2. Therapy

**Here is chapter two! This is such a fun story to write. Hope you love reading it as much as I love writing it! Also, remember to review. **

**I'm open for suggestions if anyone wants to share, too, just so you know!**

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><p>That Monday morning Jeff was awake by 5 am. Breakfast was at 6 and school started at 7, so they had to be up around this time every morning, apparently. It wasn't something that Jeff figured he'd get used to any time soon, but yet one more thing he'd have to deal with for the next two years.<p>

Of course, Nick and Flint went for the cigarettes as soon as they woke up. It seemed like the room always reeked of their second-hand smoke. They all dressed in their navy blue and red-trimmed uniforms provided by the school. They were extremely nice—a dress shirt, dress pants, a blazer, and a tie. Jeff had to admit that they looked pretty sharp.

By the time they left the room, Nick had gone through three cigarettes and pocketed what was left of the pack for later 'bathroom breaks.' It seemed he had it worse than Flint, who had stopped after the first one.

It was pretty obvious Nick had a smoking addiction. Of course, it probably worked to his advantage around here. Smoking enhanced his 'bad-boy' image almost certainly, especially since he managed to keep the teachers in the dark about it most of the time.

He may live to regret it if he picks up lung cancer, though…

The lunch room was on the first floor. The lunch line ran like most schools would. Get a tray, get your food, sit down, and eat. This morning they were serving pancakes with watery syrup and a cup of fruit.

Guess with all the high-class upsides, they decided to draw the line at food? Oh, well. It was edible at least.

Nick got a tray of food, but didn't even touch it. His hunger was probably stifled thanks to the excess tobacco and smoke this morning. Jeff tried to eat his, but only managed two bites before he felt sick. He hadn't had much of an appetite since way back when he was first arrested, and the second-hand smoke he was constantly exposed to around here probably didn't help.

Flint was the only one who ate the whole meal, no problem.

After breakfast was school. They had four basic academic classes. Class schedules were based on your assigned hallway, so Jeff had all of his classes with both Nick and Flint.

1st period – Physics with Mr. Storm

2nd period – English III with Ms. Berry

3rd period – Pre-calc with Mr. Bates

and 4th period – Government with Ms. Clarke.

The classes went by quickly. It was kind of weird to only have four academic classes, but nice all the same. Less stress. That would certainly be good for him, since he was already stressed to his core. No matter how nice the facility, it was still, basically, a prison. That knowledge alone haunted Jeff.

Immediately after their academics, they took part in Group Therapy. The teacher here was a therapist by the name of Dr. Reed. The desks in here were positioned in a semi-circle, facing the teacher's desk.

Jeff took a seat beside Nick. He didn't know anyone else here, and Nick seemed to be the only one who didn't act repulsed at the sight of him. Of course, the brunette didn't treat him particularly _nice, _but what other choice did Jeff have?

"Good afternoon, class!" Dr. Reed greeted them very cheerfully. He looked at Jeff. "I heard we've got a new student here today. What is your name?"

Jeff blinked at the teacher, taken off guard. _Sure, bring even more attention to me… _"Jeff," he answered, trying to sound confident in the midst of all the stares of the other delinquents.

Vaguely, he thought he heard someone whisper, "I thought his name was Griffin?"

"Well, Jeff, welcome to Group Therapy," he said, his optimism seeming to be excessively forced. "Is there anything you wish to talk about to start off your first day here with the class?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, thank—I mean, not really." He felt nervous. Like he was breaking under the peer pressure. To fit it. To be like everyone else, just to avoid being the tortured outcast.

"Very well," Dr. Reed said. "So, class… Today, I thought we should discuss society's expectations for you guys once you are released."

"Expectations? Hah!" someone scoffed. "Society expects nothing out of us. Besides maybe working a drive-thru. Or dealing drugs. Or just getting sent back to prison."

"That's actually a good point, Jake," Dr. Reed said appraisingly. "Yes, society may expect the worst at first. But if you show them that you can be a Good Samaritan, they'll begin to trust you again. Sure, it won't be easy. It'll take time and work. But once you decide to put your mistakes behind you, you _will _succeed."

_Put what behind me? I didn't do anything… How is it fair that I'm going to struggle the rest of my life, coping with something I didn't even do? _Nothing in his life seemed fair anymore.

Jeff glanced sideways at Nick, curious to see how his skeptical eyes may be ridiculing this lesson. He was taken by surprise, however, when he found that the 'ultimate bad-boy' seemed to be paying attention and listening. His expression was unreadable, though, so Jeff couldn't exactly tell if he was taking it to heart or was just plain listening.

Although it made him feel guilty to realize he had, in fact, already judged Nick. Sure, the brunette acted like a big bad boy, smoked, talked about drugs, lead a prison gang… but that was just the surface. It was stretching things, but maybe Nick wasn't so bad deep down? It was always possible, even if only slightly.

Jeff wasn't bad at all, yet he found himself lying to fit in and stay safe. Who's to say he wasn't the only one? Any person in this room could be truly good at heart.

He hated to think someone would judge _him_ for his time here. Just because he was in a correctional facility, it didn't mean he was a bad person. It pained him to think that, no matter where he went after his two years here, people would most definitely treat him like he was still a criminal.

"I know what most of you are thinking," Dr. Reed said softly to the group. "Society will never take you seriously again. There will always be dirty looks sent to you. People will whisper about what things you might have done. Mothers will pull their children closer when you get too near. No college will accept a criminal. No employer will hire a delinquent. And that is just how things are. It's pointless to even try. It's too late to fix yourself now." He paused. "But you're wrong." Dr. Reed's eyes swept across the room. "You _can_ make a difference. You _can_ show the world what you're capable of. Don't let your mistakes define you. You _can_ fight the obstacles standing in your way. _I believe in you_."

…

"Ugh. That class was so lame," Nick muttered the complaint as they exited into the hallway. "As usual."

Flint mumbled in agreement. "I need a smoke before my stupid drug class," he said. "Join me?"

"Yeah. I have Anger Management next. It's worse than Group Therapy," Nick agreed. He looked to Jeff. "You have any other classes?"

Jeff held out his schedule for Nick to see.

"Oh, lucky you," Nick said. "No rehabilitation classes yet."

"That's 'cuz he's a goddamn fairy," Flint muttered.

"You're free for the day, Blondie," Nick said, ignoring Flint. He paused. "Well, metaphorically." He turned to join Flint on their 'smoking break.'

Jeff was called aside by Dr. Reed before he could escape back to his dorm and hide from the reality of this nightmare for the rest of the night.

"Why don't we chat in my office?" Dr. Reed suggested. "You need to get your first private therapy session over with soon, anyways. Why not get it over with now?"

Jeff agreed enthusiastically, of course, thrilled to have the chance to spend some lovely quality time with Dr. Reed while they delved into Jeff's personal emotional issues and…

No, wait. That wasn't how it happened. Jeff just mumbled a dull, "Fine," and slinked off to follow the doctor to his office. But close enough, right?

They went to Dr. Reed's smaller, more enclosed office. It looked like the typical therapist office with carpeted floor, a leather sofa, a desk, and a few chairs. Dr. Reed first went to the filing cabinet by his desk. He pulled a yellow folder from inside before he sat at one of the chairs. Jeff could only assume it must be his file, complete with his 'supposed' criminal record and all.

Jeff sat at the end of one of the sofas awkwardly. He'd never been to therapy before, and from what he'd heard, it wasn't a fun thing. "So, Jeff," Dr. Reed said. "Your file looks very neat up until a few months ago. Never a step out of line," he commented quietly. "Do you want to talk about what led you to rob a gas station?"

Oh, yes. Gas station. He'd told everyone else it'd been an electronic store, just because that sounded better. But Nick was all bent on changing that detail, too. In time, Jeff might forget what his 'crime' actually was. Unless, of course, Dr. Reed wanted to repeatedly remind him of it. Then he'd neverforget his _real_ imaginary crime.

"There's nothing to talk about," Jeff said. "Literally. I didn't do it." _You won't believe me, though. The cops didn't, my parents didn't, my friends didn't, and the judge surely didn't._

Dr. Reed sighed. "Look, Jeff," Dr. Reed said. "It's totally confidential in here. You don't have to worry about what anyone else will say or think. Whatever you say will be for my ears only."

"Cool," Jeff said. "But that doesn't change the fact that I really didn't do anything."

Dr. Reed studied him for a long minute. "You'd be surprised at how many people come in here and say that to me," he said finally. "Out there, they may act like they're so proud of what they've done, but in here, they fight to deny it. It's always just a ploy to try to get out of here. Or it's denial." He leaned back against the chair. "In any case, I can't do anything if I truly believe you're innocent, Jeff. I'm not a man of the law. I'm a doctor. But I _can _help you heal and overcome your mistakes. If you let me."

In other words, Jeff was stuck here for two years no matter what at this point. It was pointless to even argue. _Just accept it?_

He didn't think he could ever accept this. He was going to waste two years of his life here, for a crime he never committed. Chances are, his time here will end up ruining many chances he could have had for certain colleges or jobs… His life was screwed over all because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"So, are you ready to talk?"

"Fine," Jeff muttered. _Just don't expect any breakthroughs._

"Good." Dr. Reed opened the yellow folder. "Do you get along with your family?"

Jeff shrugged. "I guess. I never really talked to my parents much. They're always busy," he answered simply. They owned a business and always had to travel and work, so Jeff was pretty much a second thought for them half of the time.

"Would you say that they neglected you?"

"No," Jeff said. "Depends on your definition, though. I had plenty of food and clothes. I went to a nice school. I got most of the things I wanted. I was actually kind of spoiled, I think."

Dr. Reed nodded thoughtfully. "But you'd say they didn't give you much attention, right?"

Jeff shrugged. "I guess."

He nodded and wrote something down. "Have you ever taken any sort of drugs?"

"Not unless they were prescribed or over-the-counter," Jeff mumbled.

"And what about alcohol?"

"I've only ever drank once or twice," Jeff answered. _Yeah, see? I don't fit any of these regular stereotypes. Happy?_

Mr. Reed nodded. "Why don't we return to family?" he decided.

_Why? Because that's the only thing that was slightly wrong in my life? _"I'm not mentally unstable, if that's what you're trying to drive at," Jeff said. "And even if I was, it sure as hell wouldn't be because of my family."

"I know," Dr. Reed said. "I'd just like a little more information."

Yeah, right.

Still, Jeff submitted. Snapping at the therapist wouldn't help him in getting out early with good behavior. The rest of Dr. Reed's questions were just more in depth on his parents and home life, such as possible abuse, whether or not his parents drank, if they'd ever done drugs, and so on.

No, his parents weren't abusive. And no, they didn't drink or do drugs. They were just incredibly emotionally distant. Growing up, Jeff's parents never scolded him on bad report card grades, never sat down to dinner with him to ask about his day, never wanted to meet any of his friends, and they never even celebrated Christmas as a family. Sure, they'd buy him gifts, but they never sat in the living room on Christmas morning to open presents and enjoy a holiday breakfast. They were always too busy with themselves.

Jeff's one role model was his older brother, Jared. Growing up, they were really close and Jared had been more of a parental figure to Jeff than either of his parents. He'd moved out to live in Seattle after college and now worked as a 'mental health and substance abuse social worker.'

It was actually kind of ironic, when Jeff thought about it. Dr. Reed here probably had the same type of education, just maybe with a little more college. Jared only had four years so far, but he planned to go for a master's degree later.

He wondered if Jared knew he was here now. Jeff had called him and told him about it back when they were dealing with court and lawyers and such, but he hadn't had a chance to call him and let him know that he'd been convicted. His parents may have done it for him… but he didn't think he really wanted Jared to know.

What if he believed Jeff had done it, too?

…

The private therapy session lasted a while and Jeff was eventually released. No diagnosis or breakthroughs, of course. Just a lot of pointless banter about Jeff's family issues. When he was let free, he went to his dorm and skipped the Rec Room.

He unlocked the door to find that Flint and Nick were already here. Flint was sitting atop his bunk, which was stripped of its blankets and sheets for some reason. Nick was in front of the dresser on his knees, ransacking one of the drawers frantically. There were clothes all over the floor and most of the other drawers were totally cleaned out.

"God, Nick, just let it go already," Flint was muttering as Jeff entered.

"Shut the fuck up," Nick snapped back at him. When the drawer was emptied, he angrily jerked it from the dresser and it crashed at Jeff's feet.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Jeff demanded in confusion.

"Mr. Darke had our room searched during school today," Flint answered, much more calmly than Nick.

"They took all of our goddamn cigarettes," Nick hissed.

"Oh," Jeff mumbled. What else was there to say? He understood that Nick had a pretty bad addiction to nicotine, especially with this little freak-out here. Judging by the mess in the room, he wasn't dealing with the material loss very well...

"I _need _to smoke," Nick muttered, storming across the room to ransack the bottom bunk of Flint's bunk bed.

"Damnit, Nick, I told you already!" Flint spat. "It's no fucking use! Forget it! They're gone!"

"Shut up!" Nick repeated.

"My bro said he'd sneak some to me next time he visited," Flint told him. "Two days. So chill out."

"I can't wait two whole fucking days for a cigarette!"

Yikes. He was pretty pissed off about this. Jeff stepped out of the way when Nick gave up on Flint's side of the room and stomped over to his and Jeff's side.

"Why not take this as an opportunity to quit?" Jeff suggested without thinking. He wished he'd kept it to himself the moment it slipped from his mouth.

As he'd anticipated, Nick whirled on him furiously. He lashed out and grasped the knot of Jeff's tie roughly, eyes burning. "_Don't _tell me what to do, Blondie, and mind your own goddamn business!" he spat uncomfortably close to Jeff's face. "You think you know what withdrawal is like? It's fucking _Hell_. But you wouldn't know because you're just a perfect little _bitch_!" With that said, he shoved Jeff away forcefully.

Jeff staggered back in the direction of the bunk bed. He felt a sharp flash of pain when the back of his head smashed against the frame of the upper bunk before he landed awkwardly on his own bed. He winced in pain and subconsciously felt the back of his head for any bleeding.

Dry, but it hurt. Badly. He was going to have a headache later… Vaguely, he heard Flint laughing. "Way to teach the faggot a lesson, Nick," he said approvingly.

Nick ignored Flint and went back to searching. He showed no remorse for what he'd done to Jeff, unsurprisingly.

What did Jeff expect? He was a nicotine addict, and who know what other drugs he may have tried. Not to mention he assaulted someone with a _knife _and nearly killed them. To expect he _would _hesitate in violence was a mistake on Jeff's part.

But he thought that Nick might actually kind of like him a little. Just slightly? _Guess that was also a mistake…_

It could be the withdrawal speaking, but still. That was a bit too harsh. And the words stung.

Again, Jeff felt the loneliness kicking in. All he could do was deal with the torture and insults from everyone else, because everyone here hated him. No one was on his side. He was alone.

_Look at the bright side, _Jeff thought bitterly, _only two years left to go._


	3. Withdrawal

**YES, I finally wrote chapter 3! Hope you all like it! And I'll apologize now for any mistakes you may notice, but it's been a while since I updated this one. I don't remember some things...**

**I really like this story, though, so expect more updates in the near future!**

**Also, REVIEW, please!**

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><p>The next morning, Nick, Flint, and Jeff got ready for school without a word to one another. Flint seemed to be extremely irritated with Nick, who had barely slept at all last night and kept his other two roommates up half the night with his restlessness.<p>

Jeff had woken with a headache, but he felt like he was much better off compared to Nick, who looked completely worn down and exhausted. The brunette didn't even bother with his hair, which was a ruffled mess, and got dressed in his uniform in a sloth-like manner. Obviously, he couldn't go long without a cigarette before the withdrawal hit him hard.

Breakfast today was soggy French toast drenched in watery maple syrup and two strips of dry, overcooked bacon with orange juice on the side. Jeff yet again passed on eating, wondering if he'd every feel hungry again. He gave his food to Flint, who devoured both plates. Nick, who normally skipped out on eating anything at all in the mornings, actually polished off his own plate in a few minutes and spent the rest of breakfast resting his head on the table.

None of the other Warblers dared to wake him up when the bell rang, although Jeff couldn't be sure if it was out of fear or just plain indifference. From what Jeff had seen, most of the Warblers were pretty intimidated by Nick, except for Flint who seemed to be the only person willing to stand his ground around the brunette. But even Flint walked off without bothering to make sure Nick was awake.

Jeff hesitated as the room cleared, contemplating whether or not it was a good idea to wake up his roommate. In the end, his good conscious won over and he nudged Nick's shoulder. "The bell rang," he said. "Class will be starting soon."

Nick groaned, rubbed his eyes, and lifted his head from the table groggily. "Ugh, just kill me now…" he muttered as he stood up.

"I see what you mean when you said withdrawal is hell," Jeff commented without thinking. He clenched his jaw and mentally cursed himself for it.

To his surprise, Nick laughed. It was a vague, raspy laugh, but it was a laugh all the same. "The first few days are always the worst," he mumbled. "I'm a fucking nicotine addict."

Jeff was surprised to hear Nick admit this. He'd had this impression that he smoked for the image of it. "Have you ever tried quitting before?"

"No," Nick answered simply. "Quitting isn't worth it."

"But the symptoms go away eventually…"

Nick scoffed. "You really don't understand anything, pretty boy."

Jeff frowned resentfully but didn't argue. In some respects, Nick was right. Jeff had never been addicted to any drugs. He didn't know what it was like to go through withdrawal.

"Don't do drugs, blondie, if you don't want to end up like me," Nick said casually. "And trust me—you don't want to be like me."

Jeff had a feeling they weren't talking about nicotine anymore. "Oh, don't worry," Jeff said dismissively. "I'm too much of a 'fag' to try anything like that."

Nick smiled vaguely. "Maybe that's a good thing."

Jeff thought it strange that Nick was being so uncharacteristically friendly towards him right now. Just last night, he'd been at Jeff's throat—literally. Why was he suddenly all buddy-buddy with him? Not that Jeff was complaining. "Outside of here, yes, it's a good thing," Jeff mumbled.

"Ah, but in here, you have a bunch of delinquents who will probably get sent back to prison a year after their released because we stupidly got ourselves involved in drugs," Nick said. "You actually have a chance out there when you get out, Griffin."

The sentiment was nice, but Jeff found himself frowning. Nick seemed to think he himself was nothing but a lost cause. "You know, you have potential, too," Jeff tried to assure. "You're not hopeless."

"Yes, I am," Nick said. "I've made more mistakes in my life than you can even begin to imagine. But that's not really any of your business, anyways." They were nearing the classroom. "So, _now_, blondie, I'm going to forget we ever had this conversation, and you're going to keep your trap shut about it if you know what's good for you. Got it?"

He said it so casually that he may as well have been discussing what was for lunch. But Jeff knew the threat was real. "I won't say a word to anyone," Jeff promised.

"Good."

Jeff was left to think about their little chat during class while Nick slept the period away with his head on his desk.

Maybe Nick really wasn't such a bad person. It may be a stretch to say he'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time like Jeff to get sent here, but he obviously recognized his mistakes.

All he had to do now was learn from those mistakes and get passed them. Probably easier said than done…

During 4th period Government, Jeff was called down to the main office by Principal Darke.

He felt slightly anxious as he made his way to the office, even though he couldn't recall doing anything wrong.

Inside, he was greeted by Principal Darke. "Good afternoon, Jeff," he said pleasantly.

"Hello," Jeff greeted. "…sir. You called me here for something?"

"Yes," he answered. "Your brother, Jared, is on the phone. He wants to talk with you." He stood and led Jeff to the back office area to the telephone. "I normally don't allow this kind of thing, but I'll make an exception this time since you're new here. Make sure he knows visiting and calling hours are every weekend, and he should refrain from calling during the week."

"Yes, sir," Jeff agreed. He could only assume that Jared had only just now learned about Jeff's…incarceration, so this phone call probably wouldn't be a fun one.

"I'll leave you alone to talk." With that, Principal Darke left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jeff picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "Hello, Jared?"

"Jeff?" Jared greeted on the other line, his voice a mix of relief and stress. "Mom just called me. What happened?"

Jeff laughed bitterly. "What, mom didn't tell you?"

"She said you robbed a gas station."

"Yep. And according to the police, I almost got away with four hundred dollars, I think," Jeff said sarcastically.

"_Why? _What in the world would possess you to do something like that, Jeff? That just doesn't sound like you," Jared said, sounding baffled. "I thought mom was trying to play some horrible joke on me when she told me!"

"I didn't do it, Jared," Jeff said seriously.

The other line was silent for a moment. "What?"

"I didn't do it," Jeff repeated. "I swear. No one believes me, of course, but you said so yourself—that doesn't sound like me. I would never rob a gas station at gun point."

"Jeff, they told me the details," Jared said slowly. "You were caught in your car _with _the money and the gun."

"Are you asking me to explain myself?" Jeff asked, feeling a pit of anger and despair rising in his chest. "I can't say I didn't see it coming. Everyone thinks I did it. I wouldn't be in here if people _did _believe me…"

"I'm sorry, Jeff," Jared said. "I just…it sounds so incriminating. How can I _not _think…" he trailed away. "Tell me your side of the story."

Jeff sighed. If Jared was like every other person he'd 'told his side of the story' to, he still wouldn't believe him. But even for the slightest chance that Jared would believe him, Jeff complied. "Mom called me and told me I had to run to the store to get milk. You know the store next to the gas station? That's where I went," he began. "I parked in the back of the parking lot and got out of my car. I didn't even get half way down the parking lot though before I realized I left my wallet at home. So I went back. I got in the car, closed the door, and I was about to drive away when I noticed something sitting in the passenger seat. I think you can guess what it was…"

"The money and the gun," Jared stated. "But how in the world would it have gotten there?"

"I don't know. The door wasn't locked. Maybe the actual robber stowed it away in my car while they ran away? Maybe he figured he wouldn't get away with it? The cops _were _surrounding my car within seconds."

"Your fingerprints were found on the gun, though?" Jared pointed out.

"Yeah. I was stupid and picked it up when I noticed it sitting next to me. I didn't even imagine it was a real weapon, for some reason. Until then, I'd never even _seen_ a real gun before. Where the hell do you think I'd get such a thing?"

Jared seemed to consider this. "Did they get anything on surveillance?"

"From the gas station," Jeff confirmed, "of the guy robbing the place. Then there's some video of him running from the parking lot towards the store next to the gas station. But the surveillance cameras around the store parking lot didn't reach far back enough in the parking lot to catch much footage of the guy or where he went. But, apparently, we were wearing similar clothing…" His voice broke. "You have no idea how many times I've wished I never left the house that day, Jared. If only I'd—I don't know, missed mom's call, or maybe if I'd waited a little while before going out to the store, or if I noticed I didn't have my wallet _before _I got to the store, then I wouldn't be here at all." He paused to control himself. He avoided crying this long, he couldn't break down now. "Everyone thinks I did it, Jared. Even mom and dad. You didn't see the shame and disappointment on their faces…If you don't believe me, then…then…" He couldn't complete the sentence. He didn't know what; he just knew he couldn't handle it if his only brother didn't believe him.

"I _do _believe you," Jared said quickly. "I knew you wouldn't do something like that. I can't believe mom and dad do…"

"Well, you know them," Jeff said, smothering his relief at the fact that Jared believed he was innocent. "They never were around much."

"That's true," Jared mumbled. "Listen, I'm going to fly down there to see if there's anything I can do to help. Maybe I can talk to mom and dad, too."

"Alright," Jeff said. "But I won't be holding my breath. My only chance out of here is to serve my time… I can get out half a year early with good behavior."

"I still have to try…"

"Well, don't miss too much school for my sake," Jeff said. Jared was studying psychology out of state in some high-class college on a pretty decent scholarship. "Oh, and by the way, the principal here wants you to know that visiting and calling hours are over the weekends. I'll have more time to talk to you, then."

"Principal?"

"Yeah. He's not bad. This whole place is more like a fancy boarding school than a correctional facility," Jeff told him. "But I should go. I've probably missed the whole rest of my last class…"

"I'll try to visit in person this weekend," Jared told him. "I'm flying out tomorrow."

"Then I'll hopefully see you this weekend," Jeff said. "Bye."

"Bye. I love you, bro."

Jeff smiled faintly. "I love you, too, bro."

With that, he hung up. He heaved a sigh as he turned for the door, but something on the desk caught his eye.

A box of cigarettes. The same kind Flint always had. Jeff could only assume this was one of the confiscated packs. He hesitated.

Should he pocket it? Nick was going through some horrible withdrawal symptoms, but wasn't it better for him to stop smoking? Then again, Jeff recalled, Flint said his brother was just going to smuggle more in, which would make a week without cigarettes pointless for Nick to go through.

Jeff made up his mind. Discreetly, he stooped behind the desk and pulled open one of the drawers. As he expected, stashed inside were confiscated items, from packs of cigarettes to lighters or sharp objects of sorts that may or may not be used as weapons. Jeff stowed two packs in his blazer pockets and pocketed a lighter as well before casually leaving the office.

…

Jeff saw Nick again in their dorm that evening. He'd skipped the rec hall after classes and was now lying on his bunk with his pillow over his face.

"Hey, Nick," Jeff greeted.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, his voice muffled through the pillow. "I have a killer migraine…"

Jeff said nothing and slipped one of the cigarette boxes into Nick's limp hand. He shoved the pillow from his face and looked at it idly before bolting upright. "Holy shit, where'd you get this?" he demanded. He didn't hesitate in ripping the box open. "Did you get a lighter?"

Jeff fished the lighter from his pocket and held it out for Nick. He wasn't exactly happy to be doing this, but he didn't exactly think it was too fair for anyone to expect Nick to quit cold-turkey.

"Yes!" Nick exclaimed joyfully, snatching the lighter from Jeff. "I love you!"

Jeff chuckled softly. "I stole them from Darke's office…and you're welcome."

"No way," Nick said disbelievingly as he lit one up. "_You?_"

"He left me alone in his office for a little while," Jeff said. "I noticed those in his desk. I only snatched two boxes, though, so you need to make them last until this weekend…"

Nick took a long drag on his now-lit cigarette, a look of bliss on his face. He didn't speak until he breathed out the smoke from his mouth and nose. "I didn't think you had it in you, blondie," he said. "Kudos to you for proving me wrong."

"I figure you can quit when you want to or need to…" Jeff said carefully. "And not cold turkey."

"That'll be the day," Nick mumbled, and he puffed on the roll-up again. "My headache is already almost gone."

"Don't you plan to quit? Eventually?" Jeff asked.

Nick didn't reply for a long minute, focusing only on his cigarette. He exhaled some excess smoke before speaking. "Maybe," he said. "It depends on a lot of things, though."

"Well…you said something about making mistakes," Jeff recalled. "Getting clean can be a great step at righting some of them…"

"I thought you said you weren't going to say anything about that to anyone?" Nick said.

Jeff blinked. "I haven't."

"Well, I'm someone. So I think I count as anyone…"

"Are you joking?"

"Nope," Nick said. "So subject dropped. Unless I bring it up, I refuse to discuss it."

Jeff sighed. "Fine," he said. He found it was actually quite easy to talk to Nick when they were alone together. Nick wasn't trying to show off as the big bad boy he was expected to be when no one else was around. Nick really _wasn't_ as bad as he seemed.

"Anyways, thanks for the cigs, pretty boy," Nick went on casually. "You're pretty cool after all. I owe you one."

"Why not start by _not _calling me 'pretty boy'?" Jeff suggested.

Nick seemed to consider this. "Well… maybe. But I can't make any promises," he concluded. He laid back against his pillow and gazed at the ceiling. "You _are _pretty…"


	4. Crimes

**Hello, lovelies! New chapter here! **

**I love this story. It's so fun to write. And I have so many ideas for it...**

**If you could please review when you finish reading, that would be totally awesome :)**

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><p>The rest of the week, Nick was in a significantly better mood. He managed to ration the two packs of smokes through the rest of the week. Even though it was a total of about 40 individual cigarettes, Jeff had a feeling that Nick was forcing himself to stay below 10 a day, which was, sadly, less than he was probably used to. Nick was probably one of those 'pack-a-day' smokers.<p>

Jeff still tried talking him into quitting. He suggested one night while they were alone in their room, "Why not try to gradually cut down on how many cigarettes you go through in a day? That may make quitting easier…"

Nick dismissively answered, "I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to quit."

Jeff couldn't figure out why he was so reluctant to even _try _to quit. He even admitted that he was an addict, and he'd expressed remorse for it, yet he still wasn't even willing to attempt quitting? It made no sense.

Meanwhile, Jeff watched his toes when he was around the Warblers. They still treated him more like a stray mutt than an actual member of the gang. Nick often lost his goodwill towards Jeff if one of his gang members were present and allowed the others to harass Jeff with derogatory insults and what not. Sometimes, he even joined in.

Jeff simply suffered through it. It was unfair, sure, but he knew it was just gang mentality. If Nick _didn't_ assert his dominance over Jeff, the other gang members may question his authority, and it was a steep fall from the top of the food chain to the bottom…

When they were alone, however, Nick was as friendly as Jeff had ever seen him. It was almost like a secret friendship, and Jeff respected the fact that Nick trusted him to keep it quiet.

Over the weekend, students dressed in their 'casual' weekend-wear, which was just a regular prison jumpsuit, except it was navy blue with the red Dalton crest ironed onto the left side of the chest. On the back in red letters read, "Dalton Academy Correctional Facility" and in larger, bolded letters underneath that, "**INMATE**." For easy identification, prisoner names were stitched on the right side of the chest.

A large portion of the student body spent their Saturday on the phone with relatives and friends in the phone room or sitting in the visiting room talking to family.

It was quite strange to behold. Many of the convicts here played themselves off like they were hardcore gangsters who were too bad for normal human interaction and yet here most of them were, sitting and talking to their parents and siblings, completely civilized.

Nick, however, held true to his bad boy image and was one of the few delinquents who remained in the rec hall throughout the day. He was lounging on one of the sofas, idly watching television, clad in his weekend-wear. He wore it 'bad-boy style' and left the torso unbuttoned and tied the sleeves around his waist. Today, he was wearing a white undershirt.

Jeff found himself admiring the muscle tone in his biceps…

"So, how exactly do these visiting days work?" Jeff asked Nick in the Rec hall that morning. He wasn't sure where to go to talk to Jared if he showed up today. Did he just have to walk into the visiting room and wait?

"Expecting a visitor?" Nick asked, sounding disinterested.

"My brother said he might come," Jeff answered.

"Oh, well…I'm not positive myself, since I've never had a visitor, but I think there's a sign-in sheet in the main office. Your bro would've signed it with his name and your name if he came in. You get a pass to the visiting room if your name is listed by a family member, and they'd be waiting in there for you," Nick answered. "They may also call you by intercom, just in case you don't check the sign-in sheet."

Jeff nodded distractedly. "You've _never_ had a visitor?" he questioned with disbelief.

Nick shook his head. "Nope."

"What about your parents?"

"I haven't seen them since I got here."

"What about other relatives?" Jeff asked. "Siblings?"

Nick seemed to consider his answer before saying, "I don't have any." He fell silent when a random Dalton student casually sat at the other end of the sofa. Nick's tone changed instantly. "Is it any of your business anyways, blondie? Leave me alone." With that, he pointedly turned away from Jeff to face the television.

Jeff mumbled, "Sorry," and left the Rec room. He knew Nick didn't really mean it, but that didn't take away from the sting of it every time someone told him to get lost.

Jeff made his way to the main office to check on the sign-in sheet. It was set on the office desk, free to check. Jeff skimmed it, only to pull away with disappointment when he found Jared's name wasn't listed.

He skulked back out into the corridor and, with nowhere else to go, sat on the floor across from the office.

…

He checked and rechecked the sign-in list throughout the day, and by dinner time, he gave up. He skipped the cafeteria and just headed back to his room, feeling too disheartened to eat anything now.

When he reached his dorm, he hesitated outside at the sound of voices coming from behind the door.

"…if you spend much more time with him, everyone is going to assume you're a faggot, too." That was Flint's voice.

"What the hell makes you think I'm spending _any _time with a preppy like him?" There was Nick's furious yet coolly controlled retort.

"You're fucking kidding me," Flint said harshly. "Every single time I turn my back, you're off somewhere with him!"

Jeff had a feeling he knew who they were talking about.

"You're delusional," Nick snapped.

"If you screw up, Nick, _all _of the Warblers will lose their rep out there. You'll ruin it for us all if people start noticing you're nothing but a goddamn homo."

"Call me that one more time, and we'll see whose reputation is ruined out there," Nick spat menacingly. "Everyone knows you're only in the Warblers because you can smuggle cigarettes in through your drug-addict of a brother."

"Hah! You're in no position to point the finger," Flint scoffed. "You're a fucking junkie!"

"And you're the dealer who can always be replaced," Nick countered.

The door was suddenly jerked open so forcefully that it swung into the wall with a _crash. _Jeff backed away a few paces as Flint stormed out, calling loudly over his shoulder to Nick, "Your _boyfriend _is at the door!"

Jeff hesitated at the door, unsure whether he was welcome or not. He tentatively stepped inside. Nick was standing by his bunk, appearing extremely agitated as he paced back and forth.

"Were you two arguing about something?" Jeff asked innocently.

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear anything, blondie," Nick muttered.

Jeff frowned. "It sounded like Flint thinks you're spending 'too much time with the faggot,'" Jeff recited. "Which, I assume, is me? That seems to be my nickname for him."

"He's an asshole," Nick grumbled.

"Am I really_ that_ bad for your reputation?" Jeff asked.

Nick sighed. "It's all that matters around here," he said. "Flint is just scared for his own ass. The Warblers' rep all hinges on me, since I'm the leader, and he's afraid that everyone will see how useless he really is if I'm not there to hold him up on my shoulders."

So _that _was probably why no one wanted Jeff around, especially at the beginning. One weak link and the whole gang could collapse. Jeff wondered how much pressure that put on Nick to live up to his reputation every single day. "If I'm that detrimental to the whole gang, Nick, I'll understand if you kick me out," Jeff said. "I'll never really be a gangster or a bad boy like you…I'm sure you know that. I'm the weakest link and everyone knows it."

Nick laughed. "I like you, blondie," he said. "So modest. Modesty isn't the best quality to have around here, though."

Jeff frowned. "Modest?"

"Do you really think Wes burnt someone's _house _down? Or that Thad beat someone up with a garden rake?"

Jeff narrowed his eyes in confusion. "They didn't…?"

"No," Nick answered. He dug a box of cigarettes from his pocket. "Arson is too serious to wind up here. All Wes did was set fire to some guy's shed, _on accident. _He was probably high or something and fell asleep in the bushes by the shed with a still lit joint. The smoke woke him up, but by then, the fire was already going. He's here _mostly_ on drug charges." He lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it, eyes closed as he breathed in as if to savor it. He exhaled the smoke slowly before continuing. "Thad's crime didn't even have anything to do with a garden rake _or _beating somebody up. That was completely made up. No, all Thad did was break into his neighbor's house, a little old lady who probably couldn't even fend for herself, and he stole her wallet and hocked all her valuables. I suppose it's somewhat understandable, his family is very poor… He ended up feeling guilty for it, though, and turned himself in."

"Did everyone make up their crime?" Jeff asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, David's is pretty spot on, except he didn't go on a joyride. He was driving drunk in his dad's car and went wild on the police when they caught him. He _did _punch one of them, though."

"And…yours?"

Nick carelessly blew a cloud of smoke in Jeff's face, which forced him to cough and splutter and back away a few paces. "Sorry," Nick apologized. "I forget that you can't handle a little smoke."

Jeff rubbed the stinging smoke from his eyes. "I think I've been exposed to more of that in my single week here than I have been my entire life," he muttered.

Nick smiled faintly. "No wonder you're so sensitive," he said. "My dad was a smoker. He quit, ironically, right after I started."

"How old were you?" Jeff asked curiously.

Nick seemed to think about it. "Eleven?" he guessed.

"_Eleven?" _Jeff echoed in disbelief.

"My dad left some lying around…I was curious," Nick defended himself indifferently. "He caught me the third time I tried it and freaked out, and that's when he quit. I was just a light smoker until 7th grade. A pack of cigarettes where I'm from is as easy to come by as a pack of gum. That's when I became addicted to it."

Jeff couldn't imagine _what _led Nick to do these things, especially so young. His father seemed to care about him a lot if he was willing to quit smoking so suddenly because of his son. But then, Jeff didn't know Nick's whole story. It might be rash to judge him on what little he knew.

"Oh, you asked me if my crime was real, didn't you?" Nick remembered out loud.

"Yes," Jeff answered apprehensively.

"Well, it is," he answered. "I _did_ stab a guy. With his own pocket knife, too. He almost bled to death before the paramedics got there." His voice wasn't gloating. In fact, his expression was unreadable and his voice was emotionless.

"Then how'd you end up here?" Jeff questioned skeptically. "Wouldn't they get you for attempted murder for that?"

"They tried," Nick admitted. "My attorney struck a deal and they sent me here. Pretty lucky, considering."

"And you stabbed this guy because he was 'messing with you'?" Jeff recalled.

Frowning distinctly, Nick answered, "That part is a little more complicated. And I'd rather not get into it."

Jeff nodded in understanding despite the fact that he was extremely curious for the actual reason. "Who was he?"

Nick hesitated as if deciding whether or not to answer. "He was a guy who dealt me drugs," he admitted. "You may have heard Flint say it already, but I'm what you might call a junkie."

"Well…you've been clean since you got here, haven't you?" Jeff ventured.

"Except for the occasional weed Flint manages to smuggle in, yeah," Nick answered. "And nicotine, but that's a legal drug."

"So you're more of an ex-junkie," Jeff decided.

Nick smiled one of his rare smiles. "I'll say it again: I like you, blondie," he said. "I wish I could think like you do."

Jeff assumed that was a compliment and said, "Thanks, I guess."

It occurred to Jeff that any sane person would be wary of Nick. And he knew for certain that if he'd met Nick outside of Dalton, he would have probably avoided him at all costs and wouldn't have even made eye contact with him. Considering his run-in with the law, he was the definition a violent criminal. Yet, somehow, Jeff felt completely at ease talking to him. He _trusted _him.

"Back to the point, though," Nick went on, interrupting Jeff's thoughts. "You're not the weakest link. At least you actually committed a crime. All Wes did was fall asleep in some bushes with a joint."

"I _didn't _commit a crime," Jeff blurted out almost reflexively.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"I…um…" Well, _that _was smart of him to blurt out. Now he had no choice but to tell the truth. "…Honestly, I really didn't commit any crime," Jeff confessed. "I never stole anything. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, to put it simply."

Nick was unfazed. "Why doesn't this surprise me?" he said, almost mockingly. "Well, as far as the rest of this school is concerned, you're a badass thief. You won't want to go around blurting out the truth to anyone else, or you'll become the school-wide pussy."

"Aren't I already?" he said bitterly.

"No, not even close," Nick said. "And trust me, you don't want to be. All the new guys are preyed on at first—which included me. But you're much better off than some guys," Nick assured. "Last year, there was a kid beaten so badly he was taken to the hospital. He never came back, and there are rumors that say he died from his injuries—although I doubt that. And it was all because he was gay, I hear."

Jeff's heart skipped a beat and the color drained from his face. "How did people find out…?"

Nick shrugged. "Well, he looked and sounded gay, so people assumed," Nick answered. He seemed to just now notice Jeff's stricken expression. "Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost," he pointed out. "_You're _not gay, are you?"

"No," Jeff said instinctively, a little too quickly.

Nick casually strolled over to the door and pulled it open a few inches. He scanned the corridor, then reclosed the door and quietly said, "Well, blondie, if you _were _gay—and I'm not saying you are—but if you _were, _it isn't obvious. Sure, you're pretty, but not in a feminine way. And your voice is deeper than mine, so that wouldn't give you away, either. So I'd say you'd be safe as long as you kept the closet door locked."

_But what if people already suspect? _Flint's nickname for him was already 'fag,' after all.

He couldn't say this out loud, though, not even to Nick. It would confirm it. "I'm not gay," he said as confidently as he could muster.

"I know," Nick said. "I was just speaking hypothetically." He flicked the smoked out cigarette butt into the trash can. "So, did you see your brother, blondie?"

"No," Jeff answered, relieved for the change in subject. "He didn't show up. But he lives in Seattle. Maybe he never got a flight over."

"Seattle? That's a long ways away from this little hellhole," Nick pointed out. "What's he doing way out there?"

"College," Jeff said simply. "He's going to be a psychologist. He's the _good _son, apparently."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "Who knows what's waiting out there for _us _when we get out of here," he mused. "For me, probably prison."

Jeff sighed. "You need to stop saying that."

"I'm only being realistic," Nick said coldly.

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"Well, you'd be hard on yourself, too, if you were me," Nick muttered.

"You're not even _trying,_" Jeff said bravely. "You mope about what a hopeless case you are but you won't even help yourself."

Nick's eyes turned to daggers. "What the hell do you think you know about me, blondie?"

"I know you're a nicotine addict," Jeff said boldly. "Have you ever even _tried_ quitting?"

"I told you, it isn't worth it," Nick snapped. "And it isn't like a couple cigarettes are going to ruin my life. It's a little late for that anyways, because if you haven't noticed, we're in a correctional facility."

"You could get cancer, or heart disease, or who knows what else from smoking," Jeff pointed out hotly.

"I'll take my chances, thank you," Nick muttered. "I know, I'm fucking dependent on cigarettes. Just deal with it and don't bring this up around me ever again if you know what's best for you. _Got it?_'"

Jeff frowned. "Alright," he mumbled. He wasn't willing to put himself on Nick's bad side again. It wasn't a good place to be.

"Good," Nick said. "Now let's keep it that way."

…

The next morning was Sunday. All of the Warblers were free today and were hanging out around the Rec Room, which was emptier than usual yet more crowded than it had been the day before. Jeff kept his distance, seeing how he was very much unwanted by almost all of them. In any case, it may appease Flint a little, who hated Jeff more than any other Dalton student.

Instead, he went to the office to check the sign-in sheet. His heart leapt when he found Jared's handwriting scrawled at the end of the page. He glanced around and found the secretary, Ms. Harp, seated at a computer, dressed in a police uniform and equipped with a weaponry belt.

"Excuse me?" Jeff called to her. "Um, I have a guest." He pointed to the sign-in sheet.

Ms. Harp stood and peered at the clipboard. "Name?"

"Jeff Griffin," he answered. He pointed to the name on his jumpsuit.

Ms. Harp nodded. "Alright, Jeff, if you could just wait one moment, I'll print out your pass." She returned to her computer and got busy typing. He waited less than a minute before she had it printed out for him. "There you are. You'll be seated at table 16."

Jeff thanked her as he took the pass and left the office. The pass read something like:

Inmate: Jeffery Anthony Griffin

Visitor: Jared Alexander Griffin

Relation: Brothers

Table: 16

It was stamped with today's date and was watermarked with the Dalton crest. Jeff presented it to the guard who stood behind the visiting room doors. He looked at the pass briefly, handed it back to Jeff, and pointed him toward table 16.

The visiting room was large, yet smaller than the Rec Room. There were dozens of small, round tables scattered all throughout the room. Jeff easily spotted Jared at what he assumed was table 16 and half-ran half-walked for it. Jared stood and they greeted one another with a hug.

"Jeff! It's so good to see you again," Jared greeted enthusiastically.

Jeff smiled and pulled back to look at Jared. "It's good to see you too," he said. "I only wish it was under better circumstances."

Jared nodded solemnly. "Me too," he said. He took his seat and motioned for Jeff to sit across from him. "Although I was really surprised at how _fancy _this place is!"

"I was, too," Jeff said with a smile. "Despite what it may look like, however, I'm not living the life in here." He sat across from Jared. "But it isn't as bad as it could have been. I expected prison cells, but we're actually given quite a bit of freedom around here."

"That's good," Jared said. "How long are you in here for?"

"The rest of high school, basically," Jeff answered. "Counting summers, of course. But if I'm good, I may get out six months early."

"That isn't _too_ awful," Jared said. "I spent the week talking to mom and dad, and a few other people. I'm not sure if there's anything I can do, since a verdict was already reached…"

"I know," Jeff said. "I understand. But thank you for trying."

"I'm still planning on talking to your principal," Jared said. "He holds the most authority over you right now, so it's worth a shot."

"I'm not expecting any breakthroughs," Jeff admitted.

"I'm sorry this happened, Jeff," Jared murmured out of the blue.

"There's no need to apologize," Jeff said. "It's not your fault."

Jared stared at his hands, which were folded atop the table, for a long moment. He looked back up at Jeff with concerned eyes. "Are you doing alright in here?"

Jeff shrugged. "As alright as I can be," he said. He offered up a mock evil grin and added, "I'm already part of a prison gang."

Jared raised an eyebrow. "A prison gang…?"

"Basically," he said. "I ended up roommates with the leader of one, and he invited me to join. They call themselves 'The Warblers.'"

"Warblers?"

"Yeah, it's weird. They're actually top dogs around here, though. The other gangs don't mess with them. Which, I guess, makes me pretty lucky to be a Warbler myself."

"So people aren't treating you badly?" Jared asked.

"Well…most of the gang hates me, actually," he admitted. "They don't treat me _well, _but they're not violent towards me or anything. I guess it's what comes with being the new guy. But don't worry; I'm much better off than I could be."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I'm in the Warblers for a start. Other guys don't mess with me thanks to that," Jeff pointed out. He glanced around before adding in a whisper, "And people don't know or suspect that I'm gay." Except for Nick, of course…

"Good," Jared said. "You're going to keep it that way, aren't you?"

"Yes," Jeff said. "I'm not too keen on getting beat up."

Jared nodded. "I thought so," he said. "I just remember how…_vocal_ you used to be about it. I don't want you to get hurt in here…"

"I won't," Jeff promised. "I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut."

"And don't give anyone a reason to think that you might be."

"What does that mean?"

Jared coughed awkwardly. "Well…don't, um…don't talk about your favorite celebrities or singers because, well…Adam Lambert and Barbara Streisand aren't really 'straight-men' icons."

Jeff flushed. "I know that," he snapped defensively. "I don't talk much around here anyways, so no need to worry."

"And I'd be careful about movies and fashion and books, too…In fact, just don't talk about your interests and hobbies at all."

"I'm not _that _gay!" Jeff hissed under his breath.

"I know, I know. I'm just a little worried about you," Jared admitted. "Oh, also, be careful about…erm…staring."

Jeff laughed. "Don't worry, Jared. I can control my _leering_…"

Jared smiled faintly. "Just know that I come from a place of caring, alright?"

"I know," Jeff said. He offered up a small smile and added, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, bro," Jared said. "I'm sorry I moved so far away."

"It's okay," Jeff said. "I know you've always wanted to live out west. Besides, all of this may still have happened even if you _did _stay in Ohio." Jeff suddenly frowned. "When are you going back to Washington?"

Jared sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I can't miss too much school. I might be leaving sometime during the week. But I promise I'll call during the weekends."

Jeff nodded sadly. "So this is the only chance I'll have to actually see you?" he concluded.

"For now," Jared answered. "I'll come by every weekend when I'm off school for breaks."

"Then I'll be expecting you," Jeff said. "Right now, let's just make the best of the time we have _now._"

Jeff spent hours in the visiting room that day with Jared. They talked a lot about petty things unrelated to Jeff's incarceration such as the weather, what it was like living in Seattle, how their parents were doing and so on. It got Jeff's mind off of things. It was nice.

Jared was forced to leave when visiting hours ended around dinnertime. They hugged goodbye and Jeff found himself struggling to not burst into tears. He'd managed to avoid crying for this long, however, and he wasn't willing to let himself breakdown now.

Jeff skipped dinner that night, as usual. He still couldn't eat without feeling sick. Instead, he retreated to his dorm and went to bed early.


	5. Proving Worth

**Hey! So sorry for the wait. I meant to get this out sooner, but this month hasn't been an easy one. **

**Better late than never, though, right? Enjoy! :) **

**And don't forget to review! I love getting feedback!**

* * *

><p>Things went like clockwork for a month. Jeff suffered through life in the correctional facility as best he could. He avoided speaking around the Warblers, who seemed to be warming up to him ever so slightly.<p>

At the very least, they were insulting him less often. That was a start, right?

When they could be alone, Jeff spent much of his spare time with Nick, who was still the only person yet to treat him with any slight form of dignity. Jeff liked to think the two of them were actually getting kind of close. Despite the fact Nick still treated him like dirt when anybody else was around…

Life was normal for several weeks. At least, it was as normal as life in a correctional facility _could_ be. Jeff only found himself feeling more and more depressed as the days went by.

One month down. Still several to go.

One morning in the rec hall with the Warblers, Flint had an announcement.

"I'm getting out of here in a week!" he declared boastfully.

"What!"

"How?"

"Lucky you."

"Didn't you still have a few months to go?" Nick demanded.

Flint smirked. "Apparently, they're letting me out for exhibiting _good behavior _and _substantial progress._"

"_Good behavior?" _Wes echoed.

"What a joke!" Nick spat. "If _you've _shown any sign of good behavior, then the rest of us must be fucking pixies!"

"I know," Flint said. "They obviously haven't been watching me closely. But _hell _with that_, _I'm getting out of this hellhole!"

The other Warblers didn't appear nearly as happy as Flint was about this. In fact, they all had the bitterest of expressions on their faces. And no wonder. They were all stuck here in the equivalent of prison for who knows how much longer. For them, freedom wasn't even visible.

The news of Flint's release put the rest of the Warblers in a rotten mood for the rest of the day. Even Nick lost his usually cool demeanor and sulked through the day. Jeff decided to keep his distance while they brooded. If they decided to take their anger out on him, he was sure Nick wouldn't stop them right now.

After dinner, the Warblers gathered in the rec room and made a game out of harassing smaller and weaker gangs as an outlet for their anger. A boastful Flint was more than happy to accompany them, of course, seeing as human suffering seemed to bring him much joy.

Jeff avoided them altogether and went to his dorm. It was too early to sleep, so he sat on his bunk. He noticed one of Nick's lighters lying on the ground, probably having fallen from his bunk, and he picked it up unconsciously. He turned the plain black disposable lighter over in his fingers idly and stroked the wheel. It sparked briefly before a tiny flame burst from the tip.

The warmth of the tiny flickering fire grazed his fingers and Jeff suddenly had an insane urge to touch the flame to his skin, to feel the heat of it, to sear himself…

He released his thumb quickly and the fire went out.

_What am I thinking?_

Jeff stood from his bed and shoved the lighter up on Nick's bunk where it belonged. He had no use for it. He didn't smoke, and he certainly wasn't going to _burn _himself. It had been a crazy thought. It meant nothing. He would gain nothing from searing his own flesh.

Desperate to distract himself from these irrational urges, Jeff retrieved his schoolbooks from his schoolbag and got started on his homework (around here, they called it nightwork, since they never really went home).

When he finished, it was nearly time for lights-out, so Jeff left his nightwork out for Nick and Flint to copy at their own leisure and allowed himself to fall into an uneasy slumber.

…

The week passed as it usually did, only with a pinch of extra hostility from the Warblers. Jeff guessed it was out of bitterness, but it may also be a statement to the other gangs: "Even though we're soon to be one member down, we're still the meanest gang here, and don't anyone forget that."

Jeff had a feeling he wasn't helping the Warblers' social standing, especially since he disappeared anytime the gang was "teaching someone a lesson." He was only proving them right in the respect that he was "nothing but a spineless faggot," as Flint might say. But Jeff just couldn't bring himself to hurt another human being, whether it be physical or verbal, so naturally, he found himself ducking out of the room whenever the Warblers found a new victim to harass.

By Thursday, however, Nick finally confronted Jeff on his uselessness after dinner in the dorms. "Flint is going to be leaving _tomorrow," _he started. "As petty as his crime was, he was a vital member to our gang. The other gangs know it. He didn't take shit from anyone, as you've probably seen by now."

"Well, it isn't hard to believe," Jeff mumbled. "Where are you going with this?" Like he couldn't already guess.

"We're losing a key member of the Warblers, and the guys still aren't on board with keeping you around," Nick said with no sign of sympathy. "And, frankly, you're a priss. Your only reputation right now is in your crime, and it's not even that bad of a crime."

"Well, what do you presume I should do about that?" Jeff asked warily.

"I don't know," Nick muttered. "Do _something _bad, though. People need to think that your badass enough to be a Warbler or the other gangs will assume we're slipping, and you can be sure as hell they're going to take advantage of it."

"Something like what?" Jeff demanded. "It's not like there's an abundance of crimes to commit around this place."

"Pick a fight with someone," Nick suggested. "There's bound to be _someone _who's small enough for you to take…" He trailed away as though he was considering it.

"I'm not going to beat someone up," Jeff said bluntly.

"Oh, come on," Nick sighed. "It's not that bad. You're just going to have to be careful about who your target is. You may be tall, but you're not very well-muscled… Just find someone who is as scrawny as you are, and _maybe_ you could win."

"I'm _not _going to beat someone up," Jeff repeated more strongly. "Even if I was strong like you, I still wouldn't. I just…can't harm another person like that. Call me weak or cowardly or a faggot, but it's just not in me."

Nick shrugged this off as though waving away a slightly annoying fly buzzing a little too close to his ear. "Oh, well," he said. "I couldn't think of anyone youcould take, anyways." He stopped to think for a moment before brightening up again instantly. "Okay, I've got it!" he exclaimed. "You're a thief—or, at least, you're supposed to be one—and you stole those cigarettes from Darke's office last week. Just do something like that again, and maybe the gang'll accept you," he suggested. "Not to mention it'd be a reputation boost. And you don't have to beat anyone up. Or in your case, you won't have to get bloodied up."

_I get it, I'm scrawny! _Although he had to admit that this idea wasn't such a bad one. "What should I steal?" Jeff asked.

"That's what I like to hear," Nick said approvingly. "Just get some of the confiscated goods. Whatever he's got. I'm sure there'll be loads of cigarettes, maybe even some dope or other drugs…You'd be surprised at what some of these guys can sneak in."

So, basically, Jeff was just going to wind up being an enabler for Nick's drug problems. That was just fabulous, especially since he was constantly trying to talk him into getting clean. But did he really have much of a choice in the matter? If he wanted to remain with the Warblers, then he had to prove his worth.

And like Nick had stated several times already: Jeff was weak and scrawny, and it didn't help that he couldn't seem to eat much of anything lately, either. He'd be dog food out there if he didn't have the protection of belonging to the biggest and baddest prison gang at Dalton. "Alright, it sounds like something I could do."

"You better do it soon," Nick advised. "With Flint leaving, the gang is going to be feeling more vulnerable."

"How soon?"

"Preferably right before or after he officially moves out… so within the next two or three days."

Jeff nodded, unfazed. "Alright, I can do that," he said determinedly. How hard could it be? He'd already done it once. Of course, he'd been in Darke's office with permission then. "How will I get into his office, though? He left me alone last time because I had a phone call."

"That's easy," Nick said. "You just need a minor distraction. Run in during rec time and report a fight in the schoolyard," he suggested. "That'll send him rushing out of the room without a second thought about leaving you alone in there."

"But he'll know I was lying when he goes out there and sees that there _isn't _a fight going on," Jeff pointed out obviously. "So if and when he notices some things missing, he'll know it was me."

Nick smirked. "Not if there actually _is _a fight…" he said meaningfully. "I could start a fight in a moment's notice. My reputation around here isn't just big talk. I _earned _it."

Jeff furrowed his eyebrows. "So you'd be willing to help me?"

"Absolutely," Nick answered readily. "It'll give me an excuse to let off a little steam."

"Then how about now?" Jeff decided. "We still have another two hours of rec time."

"Whoa, blondie, I didn't think you were so pushy!" Nick laughed. "But I like your determination."

"I want to get it over with _before _Flint leaves," Jeff admitted. "Maybe then I'll prove to him I'm not a 'spineless priss.'"

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," Nick said unsympathetically. "Flint isn't the type to change his mind. But I guess it's worth a shot."

Jeff ignored this. "So, you'll do it? Now?" Jeff asked. "You _did _say you could start a fight in a moment's notice."

Appearing highly amused for whatever reason, Nick answered, "Sure thing, pretty boy. Let's get this over with."

And so the plan initiated. Nick headed for the schoolyard, having promised he'd have a fight started within 5 minutes, and Jeff went to Principal Darke's office on the first floor. He decided to wait for six minutes.

The first minute passed by agonizingly slow, as did the second…and the third….and the fourth….and the fifth…Now!

Jeff dashed through the office doors to where principal Darke sat at his desk on his computer. He straightened up instantly with surprise when Jeff came barging in. "Do you need some—"

"There's a fight in the schoolyard!" _I hope! _He tried to make himself sound breathless as though he'd run to the office from the schoolyard.

Darke was at his feet in an instant. "What? Are you sure?" he demanded. He didn't wait for a response. "Did you recognize anyone involved?"

Jeff paused as though he had to think about it. "I think one of them was Nick, my roommate."

Principal Darke groaned. "Not _again_," he muttered. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't move." With that, he darted out of the room.

Wow. This plan really was working.

Jeff watched Principal Darke rush down the corridors out of sight before he started his heist. He scurried around Darke's desk and jerked open the bottom drawer and—voila! It was stuffed full of cigarettes, smokeless tobacco, bags of marijuana, lighters, pointy and sharp objects, dirty magazines, cells phones, plus a few individual bags filled with already-rolled joints.

Jeff grabbed what he could fit into his pockets: a few packs of cigarettes, a few cases of chewing tobacco, one small bag of about 5 joints, three lighters, and one tiny razor blade. He shoved two of the dirty magazines in his blazer and slipped a cell phone in his back pocket. When his pockets were full, he closed the drawer and casually stood by the door to await Principal Darke's return.

It was all done and over with in less than two minutes.

Within another five minutes, Principal Darke returned, accompanied by three others. The first was a short, bony, curly-haired boy limping at Darke's side. His face was lined with darkening purple bruises, one eye was blackened, and he was clutching a handkerchief to a bloody nose.

Just behind them was a stony faced guard adorned in his police uniform. He was hauling a handcuffed Nick roughly along with him, and every time Nick so much as lifted his head, the guard grasped the back shaggy hair and forced him to look down at the marble floors. "Ow! Sheesh, couldn't you be just a little gentler?" Nick complained coolly, and Jeff had a feeling this wasn't the first time he'd been through this.

There wasn't a scratch to be seen on Nick's muscular body.

Jeff frowned uncomfortably as everyone filed into the office. Principal Darke motioned for the curly-haired boy to sit in a chair in front of his desk. Meanwhile, the guard forced Nick to sit down in a chair on the other side of the room—far away from the afro-haired boy—still yanking on his hair.

"Tell me what happened, Blaine," Darke ordered afro boy.

Jeff inched to the back of the room. Blaine hesitated in answering and casted a wary look to where Nick was sitting. The guard still had his hand clasped to Nick's hair and was pushing the brunette inmate's head down against his chest. It didn't look comfortable, but Nick didn't seem bothered in the least.

"He won't touch you again," Darke promised.

At that, Nick breathed a soft, daunting laugh. The guard reacted by mercilessly shoving him down so that he was hunched over his knees in his seat. "Shut up!"

"Ugh, ease up a little," Nick muttered in a strained voice. "I'm pretty sure this is child abuse."

"You're in no place to be talking about being abused, Nicolas," Darke muttered. He turned back to Blaine. "What happened?"

"H-he jumped me," Blaine answered weakly. "I didn't even do anything."

Darke turned glowering eyes on Nick. "Why would you do that?"

"I can't really breathe with Mr. Muscles here bending me over like this," Nick said cheekily of the guard.

Darke appeared more furious than ever. "Let go," he muttered to the guard.

Grudgingly, the guard allowed Nick to sit up straight. Nick sighed with relief and made a show of arching his back in a casual stretch. "Ah, much better. Thanks."

Well, he sure knew how to make himself at home…

"_Well?" _Darke demanded. "Why did you do this to Blaine?"

Nick shrugged indifferently. "He gave me a look."

"And so you attacked him?"

"I haven't been in the best of moods today."

Darke seemed absolutely exasperated. To Blaine, he said, "Go to the hospital wing. I'll tell the nurse to give you tomorrow off school."

Blaine nodded and stood up unsteadily. Without thinking, Jeff sprang forward and blurted out, "Here, I'll help you."

Nobody in the room protested, but Nick _did _roll his eyes. Jeff ignored him and pulled one of Blaine's arms over his shoulders. Their height difference forced Jeff to stoop down a little so Blaine could walk comfortably.

"Thanks," Blaine breathed thankfully as Jeff led him out of the office.

"Don't mention it," Jeff mumbled. He felt incredibly guilty knowing he had been half of the reason whyBlaine was even in this state in the first place. "Do you know where the hospital wing is?"

"Just down this hallway." Blaine pointed with his free hand and Jeff started down the corridor. "So, do you know that Nick guy?"

"Yeah," Jeff answered. "He's one of my roommates."

Blaine winced at that. "I'm sorry," he said. "That must suck. The whole school is terrified of him. I guess I'm a good example at _why." _

Jeff frowned. "It's not so bad. He isn't mean all the time." Jeff stopped himself before going on. No one was supposed to know about his and Nick's friendship. "He hasn't beaten me up, at least. Although he _did _bash my head against a bunk bed on my second day…" He trailed away when he realized how bad that sounded. "Er…th-that didn't sound right. It wasn't anything like _that_. He was pissed off and shoved me." He felt his face growing hotter with embarrassment.

Blaine laughed softly, even though he was obviously in pain; he winced at every step. "I didn't think of it like that, anyways," he assured.

"S-so…what happened, anyways? He just jumped you?" Jeff asked innocently.

"Yeah," Blaine answered. "I glanced at him when he walked out into the schoolyard and next thing I knew he had me by my tie and was punching me in the face! I _did _try to fight back, but you can guess how that went."

Jeff frowned even deeper. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. The stolen items weighed in his pockets like rocks.

"Not your fault," Blaine shrugged. "You know, rumor has it that Nick's family is part of the Mafia?"

"What?" This was definitely news to him. "Why?"

"He's Italian, didn't you know? His last name is Romano, after all. You know, like the Italian cheese?" Blaine said.

"Being Italian is a huge stretch from being in the Mafia," Jeff pointed out reasonably.

"Well, Nick is a violent _Italian_ criminal," Blaine countered. "And he's never denied that his family is involved with the Mafia. And why do you think he never gets any visitors?"

"I don't know," Jeff said. "Why?"

"Because, as a member of the Mafia, he shamed his family by getting caught," Blaine answered matter-of-factly. "They'll probably have him killed once he's released."

"You _honestly _believe that?" Jeff asked incredulously.

"Everyone does!" Blaine said. "Just ask any other Joe around here and he'll tell you the same thing. It's a source of relief for a lot of the guys here."

"Relief?" Jeff echoed.

"Yeah, because he's a ruthless dictator here, but we know he'll get what's coming to him once he gets out of here," Blaine answered darkly. "I used to feel sorry for him, but now I kind of see why everyone else feels that way."

Jeff was finding it suddenly harder to breath. "I highly doubt he's even involved with the Mob," he said as calmly as his voice would allow. "This is Ohio, not New York or Chicago." That was a comforting thought. Nick was from Lima. He _couldn't _be involved with the Mafia.

"There _are _big cities in Ohio. Maybe some Mafia members reside there?" Blaine suggested. "You never know."

They arrived at the hospital wing. Blaine waved goodbye and hobbled on inside by himself. Jeff turned away and instinctively headed for the rec hall. Darke probably wouldn't welcome any intrusions right now.

He found the Warblers at a foosball table in the corner of the room. When he approached them, each of them sent their own brand of venom in a glare of hatred.

"What do you want, fag?" Flint demanded.

"Nick isn't back?" Jeff asked, ignoring Flint's threatening tone.

"No," Flint muttered.

"You heard that he beat the shit out of Blaine?" Wes spoke up. "It was a good show."

"Yeah," Jeff said. "I heard."

"So what the hell do you want, then?" Flint demanded once again.

Jeff sighed and reached into his pockets and withdrew the stolen items. "I got these from Darke's office."

Wes instantly grabbed for the bag of joints. David went for the cases of the chewing tobacco and handed one to Thad. "Are these the confiscates?" Thad asked.

"Yep," Jeff said. Soon enough, his hands were empty. "Darke wasn't in his office so I decided to take advantage of it." He glanced around warily for any sign of teachers or guards before he took out the dirty magazines. "Who wants these?" It wasn't like he was interested in keeping them.

Wes and David each took one and hid them in their blazers as Jeff had.

"Not bad, Griffin." The compliment came from Flint.

Jeff stared at him in disbelief. "Er, th-thanks."

"Maybe you _are _good for something," he remarked. "Nice work."

_Nice work at not being entirely useless? _Whatever, it was a compliment from _Flint, _so he'd take it. "Thanks," he repeated again, unsure of what else to say. Before Flint could add an insult to the already half-insulting compliment, Jeff changed the subject. "So, um…I was wondering if any of you guys know anything about the rumor that Nick's family in in the Mob?" he ventured curiously.

They each exchanged glances. "Well…we don't know much more than any of the other gangs," Thad admitted.

"Nick never talks about himself," Wes added. "He likes to stay mysterious or whatever. He's never confirmed nor denied the rumors."

Jeff nodded thoughtfully. "What's your take on the rumors, then?"

David said, "Anything is possible with Nick. What kind of strings he pulled to get put into Dalton instead of prison, we may never know."

"He speaks Italian," Flint added. "Not often, though…and mostly in his sleep."

"I think the rumors are true," Thad put in. "That's why he's always acting out and getting into stupid fights with weaklings like Blaine. He's trying to get his sentence lengthened. That way, he might live to see another day, even if it's behind bars."

That actually sounded somewhat reasonable… "But don't you think it's unlikely that the Mafia would have any roots whatsoever in a place like Lima, Ohio?" Jeff pointed out nervously.

"Maybe he's not even from Lima," David suggested. "Like I said, you never know with Nick. No one knows _anything _about him besides what's obvious."

Jeff frowned to himself. He wasn't getting the kind of feedback he had hoped for. The Warblers seemed to believe these Mafia rumors just as much as the rest of the school. And Jeff was finding himself becoming more and more convinced that it was true as well.

_Why am I so bothered by this?_

No one else seemed to care that Nick's life may very well end when he left this building for good. Why should Jeff? He hardly even knew Nick.

Jeff left the Warblers to revel in their new goods and went to his dorm with a pit of unease in his chest. He couldn't shake off this strange feeling of…of _concern_ for Nick. He wasn't even getting out of Dalton for another year yet, and still Jeff couldn't erase the thought him being murdered at the hands of his own family.

Would the Mafia actually do such a thing? As a sheltered rich kid, Jeff didn't really know anything about the inner workings of any type of street gang, let alone the Mob.

It wasn't long before the dorm room door opened and in walked the shaggy-haired Italian inmate. He noticed Jeff instantly. "Are you _always _in here early?"

For some reason, Jeff was relieved to see him. It was as if his new knowledge of the Mafia rumor meant Nick could die any second and each moment he was still breathing was a miracle. Of course, that was a ridiculous thought. Nick had already been here for several years and so far no one had tried to snuff him out. "So Darke let you out?"

"Yep," Nick answered. "Check out my newest accessory." He waved a hand at Jeff to reveal a silver bracelet clasped tightly around his wrist.

"What is it?" Jeff asked.

"It means I'm on 'house arrest.' Ironic, isn't it, when I'm already in prison?" he mused. "Basically, I'm confined to this room during free hours. And they have sensors in the rec room, so they always catch you if you disobey house arrest."

"So that's your punishment?" Jeff guessed.

"Among other things," Nick said simply. "I swear they make these things as ridiculously tight as possible to ensure maximum discomfort," he muttered as he fidgeted with the silver bracelet.

"What other things?" Jeff asked curiously.

"Well, I have to take extra anger management classes over the weekends," he answered. "I also have to personally apologize to Blaine in front of Darke. Oh, and if I pull another stunt like this again, Darke might extend my sentence by a year."

"How does that work?" Jeff asked. "This place only sentences through high school…"

"When I graduate, I'd be transferred to an adult prison," Nick answered. "That's how it works around here. Even if you fail high school, they won't keep someone any longer. You get one chance at high school, and if you fail, too fucking bad."

"But as it stands now, you'll be released when you graduate next year?" Jeff verified.

"Yeah, for now," Nick said.

Jeff frowned. _For now? _What if Thad was right and Nick really was trying to get his sentence drawn out more?

"Is your family part of the Mafia?" Jeff blurted out unexpectedly, even catching _himself_ off guard.

Evidently, his subconscious was too bothered by this to just brush it off…

Nick raised one eyebrow. "That wasn't random at all..." he said sarcastically.

"I-I just was wondering...because, well—I've heard a few rumors about it lately," Jeff explained uneasily.

"Ah," Nick said. "I forget that people enjoy talking about me around here."

"Is it true?" Jeff asked again.

Nick shrugged with a smirk. "Who can say?"

Since it didn't appear that Nick was going to confirm or deny this rumor, Jeff asked instead, "Are you actually Italian?"

"Do I look Italian?"

"I don't know!" Jeff said, exasperated.

Nick laughed. "_Ci,_" he answered finally. "I'm Italian. But does that mean I'm in the Mafia?"

"Does it?" Jeff countered.

Nick seemed to consider his answer before speaking; only it wasn't in English. _"Di buona volantà sta pieno l'inferno."_

Jeff furrowed his eyebrows. "What the hell does that mean?"

Nick shrugged playfully. "I guess that's for me to know and for you to die wondering."

"This isn't funny, Nick!" Jeff snapped. "Everyone keeps saying you're going to be killed when you leave Dalton. Is it true or isn't it?"

"Why should you care?" Nick asked. His voice was no longer teasing.

"I don't know—I just do!"

Then it hit him.

_I care about Nick. _

"Chill, blondie," Nick eased calmly. He looked Jeff straight in the eye and said, "I'll say this _once_, and you'll never speak a word of it to anyone, got it?"

Jeff nodded stiffly. "Got it."

"My family is in _no_ way associated with the Mafia." He said it very slowly, eyes locked on Jeff's. "My granddad is an Italian immigrant, and we happen to speak the language. But I'm not even half-blooded Italian," he said softly. "'_Di buona volontà sta pieno l'inferno' _is just an old Italian proverb my mother told me when I was younger. I don't even really remember what it's supposed to mean."

"Really?" It was as though a weight was suddenly lifted from Jeff's chest.

"Really," Nick said. "I only keep up the act because it helps my reputation. But you _can't _tell anyone."

"I won't," Jeff promised. "Thank you for telling me."

Nick scoffed. "I wouldn't have if I didn't think you were going to have a heart attack in front of me."

Jeff frowned. "I was worried."

"About me?" he asked in disbelief.

Jeff averted eye contact and stared at the ground. "Who else?"

For once, Nick didn't seem to know what to say at first. "Well, don't," he said finally. "I can look after myself perfectly fine. No one needs to worry about me."

He effectively ended the conversation there and climbed atop his bunk without another word.

Now that he could at least breathe easy knowing Nick was safe, Jeff retreated to his own bunk for the night.

Flint would be moving out tomorrow. Nick _wasn't _involved with the Mafia. The Warblers somewhat accepted Jeff now.

Today had been a pretty good day.


	6. Tongue Piercing

**Here's chapter 6! Sorry it took so long, but I think you'll like this one...**

**Remember to review!**

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><p>The next morning when Jeff showered and dressed for school, he found one of the stolen items in the pocket of his blazer: the tiny razor.<p>

He'd forgotten to offer it to the Warblers. But did he really want one of them to have a _weapon? _Sure, their "violent" crimes were nothing but lies, but still. The last thing any of them needed was a weapon.

_Why did I take this thing, anyways? _

He had no plans to use it for any reason, yet he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he might need it. But he couldn't imagine hurting somebody with it. He just wantedit for himself, then?

He knew somewhere in his head that it would be best to just throw it away, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. It seemed too important, somehow, so Jeff settled with hiding the tiny razor underneath the toothbrush holder on the sink for safekeeping before leaving the bathroom.

In the dorm room, Flint's half of the room was bare. He'd wasted no time in packing up and had left just half an hour after waking up. Jeff assumed his brother picked him up or something and the two of them were happily together now as they discussed future joint drug deals.

Unless, by some miracle, he'd learned from his mistakes, which was highly unlikely.

He joked about it with Nick in their dorm just before breakfast. Nick said something along the lines of, "I'll give him five years tops before he's back in prison."

"I don't know," Jeff said jokingly. "Maybe we'll see him at our 20 year class reunion as a completely changed man?"

Nick laughed at that appreciatively. "Maybe he'll become a politician."

Jeff wondered if Dalton actually had class reunions. If by the slight chance that they did, they probably weren't very successful. Who would really want to come _back _to this place?

Friday breezed by as simply as any other day. When his main classes were over, Jeff ate lunch seated with the Warblers in the cafeteria for the first time. Nobody hissed or booed at him when he took a seat between Thad and Nick, which was a surprising change. They didn't even give him dirty looks. In fact, they greeted him casually.

"Hey, Griffin."

"Sup, blondie?"

"Hey," Jeff greeted simply, covering up how thrilled he really was to finally be part of the gang.

"We're talking about replacing Flint," David told Jeff.

"Already?"

"Yep," Nick answered airily. "We sure do love our nicotine."

"Well…is he easy to replace?" Jeff asked.

"Probably," Nick replied. "Most of the guys here are here on drug charges. We just need someone who can smuggle in some goods."

"Here's an idea," Wes said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. "Griffin here got loads of smokes from Darke's office the other day. Why not just use him to replace Flint?"

"Hey, good idea!" David agreed readily. "We'd be the first gang to do something like that, so it'd be great for our rep…"

Thad nodded approvingly. "That way we won't have to add any new members."

Jeff bit his tongue uneasily and sent a nervous look at Nick, urging him silently to say something. He couldn't steal from Principal Darke's office _every _week! There was no way he'd get away with it.

Nick acknowledged Jeff's glance with a single tiny nod of the head and said impassively, "Maybe… It'd put him to some good use, but it's not conventional. What if he's caught and put on house arrest like yours truly? That would mean no smokes for weeks, possibly."

"Oh, true," Wes mumbled.

"We'll just have to see what happens," Nick decided. "People are bound to ask about joining now that Flint is gone. And we have a few weeks to go before it starts to become a problem."

Everyone seemed satisfied by this, as they normally were when Nick spoke and turned their attention to their food trays. Jeff made an attempt at eating—today's lunch was French fries and a chicken sandwich—but he could only manage a handful of fries before he couldn't eat any more. He drank his water and offered the rest of his food to the other Warblers.

Soon, the bell sounded, which marked the end of lunch period. Everyone stood up and started for the classroom corridors. The juniors, which included all the Warblers, were headed for Group Therapy. The Warblers had the "best" seats in the room, farthest away from Dr. Reed's desk.

Dr. Reed began the class with his usual enthusiasm. "Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to class. Today, we'll be starting a new project." This was met with groans of protest, which Dr. Reed ignored. "You're all going to be seniors in a matter of months, which means all of you need to start thinking about your futures. So this weekend, I would like for each of you to write me a detailed essay about your plans for life when you graduate, whether it's going to be from Dalton or another school. Take this assignment seriously—include what your job prospects will be, what college education you plan to complete, and so on."

This was met by even louder groans of protest. "This is bull," Nick muttered. "Hell if I know what my 'plans' are."

Even Jeff was unsure about this assignment. Before Dalton, he had hoped to become a grade school teacher or something because he loved kids. But who would let him anywhere near children now that he had a criminal record? Being realistic, Jeff figured he should begin to rethink his future plans. Could he ever amount to more than minimum wage working as a waiter or a fast food clerk?

"I expect a rough draft finished this time on Monday. Two pages for full credit, but if you only complete one page, I'll only dock 20 points," Dr. Reed went on, once again ignoring the protesting class. "I'll give you the rest of class to brainstorm and start your rough drafts."

…

By the end of class, Jeff had a page long list of possible career choices for himself, yet none of them really appealed to him. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life anymore.

Some of the class had finished a page of the assignment already, but they were probably just rushing through it to get it done with. Nick had almost a page worth of writing but he ended up folding it and sticking it in his pocket instead of his class folder like most everyone else.

The rest of the Warblers went to their rehabilitation classed after Group Therapy—Nick and David to Anger Management; Wes and Thad to drug rehab. Jeff went to his dorm to pass the time and work on nightwork. Without any of the Warblers around, it was always best for him to stay away from the rec room and schoolyard. It'd be only too easy for somebody to pick a fight with Jeff when he was alone, and frankly, he didn't stand much of a chance against anyone here.

He finished his nightwork for the weekend in every class except for Group Therapy. He didn't know where to start with this essay. When he tried to start writing it, he ended up drifting off to sleep, sprawled out on his bed.

He was awakened what seemed like moment later by Nick. "Hey, blondie! Wake up, dinner is in less than an hour." Nick nudged him. "And you're drooling on your essay."

Jeff sat up dazedly and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. Sure enough, his essay—which he'd been using as a pillow, evidently—was wrinkled and was slightly wet from his own saliva.

Looks like that one is going in the trash. Jeff looked at Nick, who stood by the bunk bed, and asked, "What time is it?"

"I dunno." Nick shrugged. "Five something."

"When did you get back?" Normally, Nick should be out of his rehabilitation classes by 3:30, and since he was on house arrest, he should have been back here ages ago, unless he'd just waited a while before he woke Jeff up.

"Oh, Reed called me in for private therapy. I just got back," Nick answered plainly.

"That sounds like a really long therapy session," Jeff pointed out.

"Yep. Don't you know I'm messed up in the head?" Nick answered casually. "Reed likes to probe my mind every single damn time I'm alone with him. So far, no breakthroughs."

Jeff had a feeling that Nick probably didn't take private therapy too seriously. Jeff busied himself with gathering up his papers and sticking them back into folders. "I finished the nightwork for this weekend, if you wanted to copy it," he told Nick.

"Fantastic," Nick said cheerily as he wandered aimlessly across the room to Flint's empty bed.

Jeff stood up and went to shove his school things under the bed before he hesitated. "Did you want me to move to Flint's bunk now that he's gone?" he asked Nick. He hadn't seemed too happy to be sharing with Jeff a while ago.

"Nah," Nick answered. "Not unless you want to. But we may be getting a new roommate or two in the future, and I think I'd rather share with you than a stranger."

Jeff almost felt flattered. He smiled to himself as he proceeded to shove his things under the bed.

"It's nice not having to deal with Flint," Nick went on. "Don't you think?"

"Sure," Jeff answered awkwardly, standing straight. "But what happens when you run out of cigarettes?"

"All we have to do is replace him... It should be easy enough, since there are plenty of people out there who'd kill to be a Warbler. There's bound to be someone who can smuggle in a few cigarettes every once in a while," Nick said, seeming very unworried. "Personally, I say good riddance to Flint." Nick wandered back to his and Jeff's bunk.

"Yeah…he wasn't really the best company," Jeff agreed.

"That's one thing," Nick said. "But now that he's gone, I want to try something…" He faced Jeff.

"Try what—?" He was cut off guard when Nick suddenly gripped the knot of his red and navy Dalton tie and pulled him into him. Their lips smashed together awkwardly in a surprise kiss and for a moment, Jeff was too bewildered to react. Nick's lips were warm and slightly dry and chapped. His mouth was hot and had a very slight smoky taste. And yet, the kiss was… breathtaking.

They broke apart for just a moment. Jeff barely managed to get out a breathless, "What—?" before Nick kissed him once again. Without breaking contact, Nick steered the dazed Jeff up against the wall. His hand slipped from Jeff's tie and wound around the back of his neck and his fingers tangled in Jeff's golden hair.

The kiss slowly melted into dozens of sensual pecks, and Nick said between them, "Your lips are as soft as I imagined..."

Jeff tried to gather his thoughts, which was nearly impossible when Nick was pressed up against him, kissing him repeatedly. When their mouths separated for a moment, Jeff managed to say, "I don't—mmgh—" another kiss "—understand?"

Nick smiled against Jeff's mouth seductively and whispered against Jeff's lips, "Understand what?"

"This!" Jeff said before he was yet again silenced by Nick's lips. _It's not like this is normal for us!_

Nick halted with the kissing barrage for a moment, his lips still brushing very softly against Jeff's. "What? You don't like it?" he murmured flirtatiously with fake hurt in his green eyes.

Jeff was almost too tongue-tied to speak. "I-I'm _confused…_" he stammered.

"What's confusing you?" Nick asked coyly. "Never been kissed before?"

"No—I mean—that's not…" He trailed away, unable even speak coherently.

Nick smirked. "Cat got your tongue?" He kissed Jeff again. "_Relax _a little, pretty boy," he eased when he broke the kiss. "I'm doing all the work here…"

It wasn't like he had any other option, so Jeff finally surrendered and returned the kiss. He closed his eyes to savor the warmth and the closeness and the intensity of Nick's caressing lips. The confusion drifted out of his mind to be replaced with empty bliss.

Nick took it even further and brought his mouth around Jeff's lower lip and nibbled on it delicately. His tongue lightly grazed the soft skin just under Jeff's lip, which brought a jolt of unanticipated pleasure and Jeff was unable to suppress a soft, breathy moan.

Then it was over. All of the sudden, Nick simply pulled away from Jeff, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Jeff was left leaning against the wall dazed, breathless, and—frankly—a little turned on. He gave Nick an inquisitive look. "What the hell was that about…?" he questioned numbly.

Still smirking, Nick said, "I have wanted to do that since day one."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Nick countered. "It was fun."

Jeff was more confused than ever. "S-so, are you, um…are you _gay?"_

"Surprise!" Nick exclaimed. "Shocking, I know. Leader of the Warblers, tough guy, feared by pretty much every other Dalton student…how could I _possibly_ be gay?"

"That's not what I was thinking," Jeff said defensively. Except that it was _exactly_ what he'd been thinking. Nick fit absolutely zero stereotypes.

"Oh?" Nick tilted his head. "What were you thinking, then?"

"Nothing," Jeff said. "I'm finding it really difficult to think at all right now."

Nick licked his lips seductively. "I'll take that as a compliment?"

Jeff stood straight, fixed his tie, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It, uh… it'd be nice if you could maybe explain…?" he suggested.

Nick drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Explain?" he echoed as he removed the last cancer-stick from the box. "There's nothing to explain."

"_Nothing?"_ Jeff repeated incredulously. "You just kissed me! Like, 50 times!"

Nick smirked. "So?" He tossed out the empty box of cigarettes and searched his pockets for a lighter.

"_So,_ it's not like that's commonplace for us!" Jeff snapped.

Nick simply laughed a soft, nonchalant laugh. "Don't get your panties in a twist, pretty boy." He found a lighter in the chest pocket of his blazer and lit up his cigarette. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

He knew he'd be lying if he said no. It had definitely been _enjoyable, _if not a little overwhelming. But Jeff had always imagined his first kiss being romantic, and with somebody special… Not with his platonic bad-boy roommate in a correctional facility with seemingly zero emotion attached.

They _were_ just friends, weren't they? It was hard to tell now.

"That's not the issue here!" Jeff spluttered. He was surprised he could actually speak coherently now with all the confusion clouding his mind.

"Oooo, I wasn't aware that there was an _issue_," Nick said. "Why don't you enlighten me, blondie? What _is _the issue?"

Jeff frowned to himself, feeling flustered. "_Why _did you kiss me?" he demanded. "There, that's the issue," he answered, feeling somewhat pleased he'd managed to pick that thought from his boggled mind and put it into words successfully.

Nick shrugged coolly. "I felt like it," he said. "Let's just leave it at face value, shall we?" He didn't wait for a response and said, "Good, glad that's settled."

As frustrated and confused as he was, Jeff knew it was no use going on about this. Nick wasn't going to cooperate. Although he was curious about one other, smaller thing: "Um…do you have a tongue piercing…?"

Nick smirked once again. "Ah, I was afraid you hadn't noticed it." He stuck out his tongue to show Jeff, and sure enough, he had a silver barbell stuck through his tongue. "My ears, lip, and right eyebrow used to be pierced too, but Darke took away my jewelry and they closed up. I managed to sneak in my barbell, though, thankfully. It's my only personal possession that I managed to keep."

Jeff didn't have a chance to respond before the dinner bell sounded. Nick clapped his hands together eagerly. "Oh, sounds like it's time for dinner!" he said. He smashed the half-smoked cigarette against the wall to put it out and placed it on the dresser to finish later. To Jeff, he said, "I'd wipe the stunned expression from your face now, or people may ask you what's up." With a leering smile, he then turned to leave the dorm.

Jeff hesitated before following after his roommate. Nick was a pro; the playfully seductive expression he held just moments earlier was now expressionless with a hint of boredom, as if nothing had happened. It was like he could turn on and off emotions with an internal flick of a switch. Which of his emotions were ever actually real? Did he just fake everything?

It was yet another thing for Jeff to ponder.

They didn't speak on the way down to dinner. They went through the serving line as usual and retreated to the Warbler's usual eating spot in the corner of the cafeteria. Only once he sat down did Jeff remember that he normally _skipped _dinner.

_Great. _It was too late to bail out, for the other Warblers quickly joined them.

"Sup?" Wes greeted, sitting beside Jeff. "I don't think you've ever eaten dinner with us before…"

"Well, look at him," David pointed out. He sat across the table from Wes and Thad sat next to him. "He's as thin and bony as that faggot, Blaine. I'm surprised he eats at all. I bet a strong enough breeze could pick him up and take him away."

Jeff frowned to himself but said nothing. Were they insulting him again already?

"Now guys," Nick sighed next to Jeff. "Knock it off. I think blondie here has proved some worth… Save the trash talk for the other guys."

As expected, they obeyed. David mumbled, "Right. Sorry, Griffin."

Jeff gave a single nod and turned his attention to his tray of food. Dinner tonight was macaroni and a cheeseburger. Jeff reasoned with himself that he _had _to eat at least all of the macaroni before he could call it quits. As offensive as it was, David was right—he _was _awfully thin.

He couldn't seem to get his mind off of Nick and what had just happened in their dorm. What had it meant? Was it nothing but a curious kiss? It had been pretty intense and passionate, though, for just "curiosity." It surely didn't seem romantic or emotional in any sense, either. So…it was just physical? Was Jeff nothing but a plaything for Nick?

He couldn't imagine that his bad-boy of a roommate could possibly care about him.

He wasn't sure how he felt about the kiss. He figured it wouldn't lead to a relationship or anything—they were in a correctional facility. Romance was probably the last thing on anyone's mind. But then where _could _this lead? Jeff wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was a hopeless romantic. He wanted to be loved, not…played with.

Frankly, he wasn't even sure Nick was capable of love.

But what if this _could _go somewhere beyond the physical? He wasn't sure how he felt about Nick, or if it could turn into something more, but anything was possible. Even though the odds were nothing but against it.

Jeff finished his macaroni with great reluctance. He felt sick to his stomach _before _eating, and now he felt plain nauseous. He wanted to lie down. Any maybe never get back up?

"I'm going to bed," Jeff announced suddenly. "Who wants my food?"

Thad pulled Jeff's tray towards him and batted away Wes's hand before he could take the cheeseburger. Nick said, "Already? It's not even 7 yet."

"I was just kidding around, blondie," David said. "Don't get so offended. Sheesh."

"I know," Jeff assured. "I feel sick, that's all."

"Ooh, hope I don't catch it," Nick said somewhat suggestively. Of course, no one besides Jeff understood the hidden meaning. "Night, pretty boy. I'll be up in no time, thanks to this stupid thing." He waved his wrist with the metal house arrest band.

"Goodnight," Jeff mumbled to the Warbler's before retreating to his dorm. He knew he had little chance of falling asleep with everything going on in his mind, but he desperately needed to lie down and be alone for a moment. He didn't think he could hold down his meager dinner otherwise.

He changed out of his uniform into pajamas and crawled under the covers of his bed and closed his eyes. He tried to clear his head but it was no use. He hadn't had a clear head in over a month. So he just lied there on his thin, uncomfortable mattress trying to relax and hang onto his dinner.

When he heard the door open, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep. He didn't want to talk to Nick. Any further interaction with his roommate may only make things worse.

"Hey, blondie," Nick greeted coolly as the door closed behind him. "How're you feeling?"

Jeff said nothing. Was Nick _actually _concerned for his wellbeing, or was he simply making small talk? The latter was more likely.

There was a short pause before Nick spoke again, this time in a softer voice. "Sleeping _already?"_

Jeff still pretended to be asleep and listened as Nick got ready for bed in silence, changing into pajamas and finishing off his half-smoked cigarette from before dinner. It wasn't long before the lights went out, leaving the room completely pitch-black aside from the moonlight outside and occasional searchlight that flashed by the barred window.

Jeff opened one eye halfway—it was too dark to see much of anything, so he was confident Nick wouldn't notice. His brunette roommate tossed the cigarette butt in the trash can, but hesitated by the bed before climbing to the top bunk. Jeff snapped his eyes shut again and continued to feign sleep.

He heard Nick's soft breath suddenly float closer and he felt those warm, slightly chapped lips touch his forehead. He forced himself not to react and held very still in spite of himself. Nick pulled away after just a moment and murmured, "Sweet dreams."

The bunk bed shuddered slightly as Nick then climbed to the top bunk and settled down to sleep. Jeff lightly touched the spot on his forehead Nick had kissed and smiled faintly to himself.

_Maybe Nick really does care…?_


	7. Eric Goodman

**OMG I'M SO SORRY GUYS I DIDN'T MEAN TO NEGLECT YOU THIS MUCH!**

**School has been killer this year. It's junior year and I'm going to be taking the ACT later this month and I've been preparing for that. I've been so tired and busy lately that I haven't been writing much. But I'm STILL WRITING! I'm trying to force a little writing time into my daily schedule. **

**So, here's this chapter that has been almost finished for over a month and I only finally finished it yesterday. Enjoy!**

**I'll update A Warblers Romance soon. I'm writing it in a notebook, and I'll type it up when I've got some momentum :)**

**Again, forgive me for my absence!**

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><p>The next morning gave way to a very dark and dreary Saturday. The clouds outside were so dark, it still looked like nighttime when you looked out the window, yet so far, there was no rain.<p>

At breakfast, Principal Darke and a few guards stood in front of the cafeteria to warn everybody of the inclement weather. They reminded everyone of their emergency procedure in the event of a tornado and informed everyone that the schoolyard would be off-limits for the day. Visiting privileges were still open, though, and would be until further notice.

After breakfast, Nick and Jeff walked back to their dorm. Nick was still on house arrest, so he'd likely be spending his whole day in their room, while Jeff was retrieving his weekend nightwork so he could finish it in the library.

The topic on the walk back: Jeff's poor eating habits.

Nick said, "Did you even eat half of your breakfast?"

"No," Jeff answered honestly. "I wasn't hungry."

"Are you _ever _hungry?" Nick asked reasonably. "I don't think I've ever seen you clean your plate."

Jeff shrugged. "Prison food isn't exactly desirable," he said dismissively.

"I don't even know what else there is anymore," Nick said. "It's all I've eaten since I was 14. If you're going to be here even a fraction of the time I've been, you have to get used to it."

"I've never been a big eater, really…" Jeff said, yet another excuse.

"I think you've _lost _weight since you got here," Nick pointed out. "And you were skinny then, too. You'll be as light as a small bird by the time you're released." He paused and seemed to ponder his last statement before adding, "Like a dove…"

Jeff looked at Nick questioningly. Dove? What was so special about doves? He shook it away, figuring Nick wouldn't explain if he asked anyways. "Why does it matter how thin I am?" he asked.

"Well, first of all, you're an easy target for other gangs. They'd pick you out and 'teach you a lesson' just to make the Warblers look bad."

"Then I'll avoid them," Jeff said. "I've done a pretty good job at that so far."

"So far, sure. But how long will that last?" Nick challenged. "Besides, that's just the first concern."

"Then what's the second?" Jeff asked. What else was there besides reputation?

"Well, there's your _own _health and wellbeing," Nick stated. "I'm _pretty _sure food is necessary to live, and I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say you're nearly a skeleton."

Jeff almost smiled at that. Was Nick worried about him? The thought gave him a warm feeling inside, along with a cold feeling of unease. He hadn't really wanted anyone to notice his problem with eating, especially not Nick. In fact, he had assumed that the problem would eventually fade away once he got used to life around Dalton, but so far, no luck. He didn't want to face the possibility that there was something wrong with him.

To Nick, he said, "Alright, fine. I'll try to work on my eating habits." _As if I haven't been already._

"That's what I like to hear."

"And what about you and your smoking?" Jeff dared to bring up. "That's not good for _your _health and wellbeing."

He expected Nick to tense up and snap at him for bringing up the forbidden subject again, but instead, the brunette laughed. "It's _great _for my wellbeing," he said airily. "Not so much health. But I'm not depriving myself of a human need. I'm just treating myself to a little extra."

They reached their room and Nick opened the door. Jeff decided to drop the subject before he pushed it. "Have you started on your essay for group therapy?" Jeff asked conversationally.

"Nope." Nick entered their room and Jeff followed. "I'm not doing it. It's a ridiculous assignment, anyways. I'm too out of touch with the world to even _begin_ to choose a reasonable career. Not too many guys have been here for three and a half years like me."

Jeff frowned. Three and a half years _was _a long time. How much had Nick really missed out on in the real world, being locked up in here? "Maybe I could write it for you," Jeff suggested. "Just so you can get the credit."

"Reed would see through it," Nick muttered. "He knows my attitude."

"I'll write it as bleakly as possible, then," Jeff decided almost jokingly. "I know you enough that I could pull off a little believable impersonation…"

"Oh, really?" Nick said. "Then what does my bleak future look like, blondie?"

"Well, _you _seem to think you'll be working in a drive-thru or the like, in a trashy apartment downtown," Jeff said slowly.

"Yep. Minimum wage until I either die or get tossed back in prison," Nick concluded.

"If I could write it my way, I'd give you more credit," Jeff said. "I see you being more successful. You might start out rough, but you'll work your way up to a decent living. Maybe you'll be a mechanic or an engineer of some sort, or a bartender, or a store manager…"

The corners of Nick's mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles. "You give me _too _much credit," he said quietly. "I won't argue about this again, though. I don't want you to write my essay for me, but if you do, don't be your usual overly optimistic self."

_Me, overly optimistic? _Jeff was a little skeptical about that remark, but dismissed it. "I'll write yours tomorrow if you're still bent on blowing it off after spending the entire day locked up in here," he said. He grabbed his notes and some paper from under the bed.

"Why so focused on whether I have a completed essay or not?" Nick queried. "It wouldn't be the first time I went to class empty-handed."

Jeff shrugged. "It'll give me something to do." He started for the door so he could head out for the library, but Nick caught his arm and drew him back towards him.

"Not so fast, blondie," he protested with a playful smirk on his lips. "You're forgetting something." He wound his hand around the back of Jeff's head and gently pulled him in so their lips met in a brand new type of kiss.

It was nothing like the one(s) from yesterday. This was soft, almost tender, yet still passionate. Jeff gave into his senses and kissed Nick back deeply, relishing the foreign closeness and warmth. Nick didn't taste like smoke or ash today—his mouth had a very vague hint of coffee from this morning's breakfast.

It didn't last as long as Jeff might have liked, although he would never admit that out loud. Nick was the one to break contact with a sigh. "I'll never get tired of that."

Jeff contained a smile and asked, "Are we going to be doing that often now?"

The corners of Nick's mouth twitched into a sly smirk. "I hope so," he answered, licking his lips.

Jeff still wasn't sure how to feel about that. At first, he thought Nick merely viewed him like a toy to be played with for his own satisfaction and nothing more. He still wasn't so certain if that was true or not, but he had the feeling that Nick actually liked and cared about him.

If only he would admit it out loud, then Jeff could be sure.

"I'll see you at lunch or something," Jeff said to Nick as he turned back for the door. He wasn't sure about whether or not he would even be up to eating anything come lunch time.

He closed their dorm room door behind him and made his way to the library.

…

Jeff was nearly finished with his essay when a voice came over the intercom. "Jeff Griffin, please report to the main office, you have a visitor."

For a moment, he was confused. Visitor? Who would be visiting him? Jared would be in Washington right now, so it couldn't be him. It could be one of his parents, but they were often too busy to talk to him even when they lived under the same roof.

Jeff gathered his things and hurried to the main office. When he entered, the secretary handed him his already-printed visitor's pass. He glanced at the visitor's name: Amanda Griffin.

He frowned to himself as he exited the office and walked to the visiting room. He handed his pass to the guard and warily entered the room. He scanned the tables until he spotted a familiar, well-dressed woman seated near the front of the room, hands folded on table and back erect. She noticed Jeff as he approached her and she raised her head.

"Mom?" Jeff greeted uncertainly. He felt so small, with her in her dressy professional blazer and him in his prison jumpsuit.

"Jeff," she greeted in a businesslike voice. She nodded at the chair across the small round table. "Sit."

He obeyed and sat down. He almost wanted to ask her what she was doing here, but he held his tongue. He had the feeling this meeting wouldn't be a pleasant one.

"I never imagined I'd ever be sitting in a prison visiting room," she said stonily. "No less did I imagine I would be here to see my son."

Jeff ducked his head shamefully. "I'm sorry, mom," he mumbled. "But I didn't—"

"Do you know what your father and I have had to go through since your incarceration?"

So she was only here to blame him for everything. "No, but—"

"Everyone thinks we're horrible parents now, to have raised a thief," she went on. "Your father is so depressed that he hardly ever leaves his office. And now you've got your brother blaming _us _for this whole thing as well."

"Jared is just trying to help me!" Jeff protested. "I _told you_, I didn't do anything!"

"You're still sticking to that story?" she said incredulously. "They caught you red-handed, Jeff. You have _no _excuses."

"Are you just here to blame me for everything and make me feel guilty?" Jeff demanded. "I should have guessed. You never have time for me otherwise."

"You've _shamed _our family!" she spat. "We did you right as a kid. We gave you everything you asked for, and this is how you decided to repay us? You're disgraceful and no son of mine."

It felt like Jeff's heart was lodged in his throat. "So you're disowning me?"

"That's right," she growled. "Don't expect anyone to welcome you home in two years." With that said, she pushed to her feet and walked to the door. The guard let her leave and gestured for Jeff to do the same.

The meeting barely lasted ten minutes, yet Jeff was suddenly homeless. When he finally got out of this correctional facility, he had no support system. He wanted to chase after his mother and beg her to take it back, but what could he possibly say to change her mind? He was a disgrace to his posh, proper, perfect family. Nothing was going to change the fact that he had been tried and convicted of this crime, whether or not he'd actually done it.

Jeff didn't move from the table until the guard stomped over to him and forced him to his feet. "Your visit is over. You need to leave," rumbled the deep voice. With that, the guard half dragged Jeff to the exit and shoved him out the door.

Jeff unconsciously started back for his dorm. He needed to be alone before he allowed himself to react to what had just happened with his mother. He couldn't let himself lose self-control. No one would ever take him seriously if he broke down crying in front of a bunch of steel-hearted badass criminals.

He got to the second floor and was just around the corner from his dorm when he was stopped outside of another dorm by another Dalton student turning the other corner. He was tall, muscular, and angry looking and he glanced at Jeff like a predator noticing and especially easy bit of prey.

Jeff's heart dropped when the burly inmate veered in his direction. "What do we have here?" he hissed joyfully.

Great. After all his efforts to avoid confrontation, and now he was caught alone with _this _guy. And _now_ of all times! Jeff avoided eye contact and tried to edge around him. It didn't go over well; the boy blocked his path and roughly shouldered him back.

"It's rude to ignore people, blondie," he growled. His jumpsuit was stitched with the name Eric Goodman. "Didn't you know that?"

"Leave me alone," Jeff said bravely. He meant to sound commanding, but his voice betrayed his fear.

Eric laughed menacingly. "Aw, not in the mood for company?" he taunted. "Scared, are we?" He sauntered closer to Jeff.

Jeff backed up warily. If this guy was looking for a fight, Jeff definitely didn't stand a chance. "I-I'm part of the Warblers." It was worth a shot. Most people here feared the Warblers.

He grinned widely. "Oh, so _you're _the new guy," he mused. "Waltzed in here and joined the Warblers, and now no one can touch you, is that it? You're nothing but a faggot trying to fit in with the big boys." He glanced around deliberately. "Well, I don't see any of your _protectors _around. Maybe it's time someone taught you a lesson."

_Shit. _"I'm not looking for a fight," he said desperately. He backed up more as an attempt to put some distance between him and Eric, but for every step back he took, Eric took two forward.

Eric howled with laughter. "A fight? Yeah, right, you couldn't punch your way out of a wet paper bag!" he jeered. "A 10 year-old girl could beat the living shit out of you. So, yeah, I'm not looking for a _fight _either." He lunged and gripped the collar of Jeff's jumpsuit to hold him in place and said, "I'm looking to give the new guy a welcoming beating. Everyone else got one. Why should you get any special treatment?"

There was no warning; Eric suddenly threw a fist, full force, right into Jeff's abdomen. The air was forced from Jeff's lungs all at once and he involuntarily doubled in pain. He had no chance to recover before Eric's knee came up and smashed against his face. There was a very audible _crunch _and sharp jolt of excruciating pain shot through his face.

Jeff staggered back with a cry of pain, clasping a hand over his nose, which was surely broken now. Warm blood touched his hand and he backed away hastily in an attempt at escape.

Eric was faster, though. He grabbed Jeff by the shoulders and thrust him sideways to the ground. He landed on his side awkwardly, sliding about a foot on the marble floor. He closed his eyes tightly and didn't move, as if Eric might spare him if he didn't fight back.

This wasn't the best course of action. Eric threw a sharp kick at Jeff's stomach. "Get up, fag!"

Jeff rolled over onto his hands and knees weakly, trembling fearfully and gasping for breath. Pain seemed to throb from every point of his body already. Droplets of blood from his bleeding nose splattered on the ground. "Please," he begged pitifully, looking up at his attacker from where he cowered on the ground.

Eric threw another kick at Jeff's side and sent him sprawling to the ground once again. "_Please _what, blondie?" he jeered. He stalked closer to where Jeff now lied. "Can't take a little pain?" He kicked him again with a grunt of effort. "_Huh?" _Again, yet another kick.

Jeff gasped in pain with each impact. He instinctively tried to crawl out of Eric's reach, but it was no use. He couldn't get away.

Eventually, Eric got bored with the kicking. He crouched next to Jeff on the ground and gripped his blonde hair by the roots. Jeff whimpered as he was forced to sit up on his knees and Eric tilted his head back by yanking back his hair.

"Aw, look," Eric taunted. "The baby is crying. Did I make you sad?"

Jeff closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth together. He could feel the blood from his nose now running down his throat, hot and thick. He couldn't remember ever being in so much pain. He hadn't even realized the tears.

Eric's grip on his hair tightened and he jerked Jeff's head back a little further. Jeff winced out loud and clenched his teeth. "_Hurts, _doesn't it?" Eric growled with a smirk. "That's what you get around here. Especially gutless guys like you. You haven't even _tried _fighting back! You're just a worthless bag of skin and bones."

Jeff swallowed back the blood and clenched his fists around the fabric of his pants. He knew it would be pointless to even try to fight back against Eric. He was huge and muscular while Jeff was scrawny and bony. He knew his own strength—it would be quicker and easier to just take the pain.

Eric, still tightly gripping Jeff's hair, forced him onto his back with one sharp movement where he was then pinned to the marble floor. Eric sat on his stomach and made a fist. "How's _this?" _Eric grunted.

There was a horrible explosion of agony when Eric's fist made contact with the left side of Jeff's face and he couldn't suppress a strangled yelp of pain. He threw his arms over his face to protect from any more blows. "Stop, please!" he sobbed.

Eric grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head. "I'm just getting started!" He let go for a moment to throw a new hook, this time right under Jeff's right eye.

Jeff's cries were becoming more like choked sobs. _"Please!"_

Eric struck him again somewhere on the left side of his face. The pain was beginning to blend together as it spread and the blood in his throat was suffocating him. "Shut up!"

"_Hey!" _There was another voice, a little distance down the hall, sounding outraged. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

_Nick?_

The weight on Jeff's chest suddenly vanished and Eric backed up a few steps. His tough-badass look melted into a look of panic and he turned tail to flee down the opposite end of the corridor. Jeff rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his elbows, gasping for breath as the blood cleared from his airway.

"Coward!" Nick spat after him. A moment later, he dropped to the ground beside Jeff, the fury in his eyes quickly replaced by a look of worry. "Jeff! Are you okay?"

Despite the fact that his entire body was aching all over and he couldn't stop crying, he was vaguely shocked to hear his _actual _name uttered by someone who wasn't a teacher—especially Nick. He didn't even know Nick remembered what his real name even was.

He was in too much pain to focus on this thought, however. He noticed a small pool of blood was forming on the ground beneath him from his freely bleeding nose. In response to Nick, he just shook his head, knowing he probably couldn't form coherent words right now.

Nick helped him sit up and propped him against the wall beside a dormitory door. He winced at Jeff's injuries and gently brushed his blonde bangs out of his eyes. "Damn, he got you good," he murmured sympathetically. Despite his soft tone, though, Jeff noticed his eyes were smoldering. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

Jeff closed his eyes and reached up to cover his nose with his hand. The blood was beginning to run over his lips and he hated the taste. Nick leaned closer and brushed away a tear that was rolling down Jeff's cheek. "There's blood _everywhere," _he pointed out quietly. He leaned back on his knees and suddenly took off his undershirt and held it out for Jeff. "Here, use this."

Jeff opened his eyes accepted the clean white shirt without hesitation, desperate to get some control of the excessive bleeding. His hands were crimson with his own blood and the front of his jumpsuit was soaked. He mopped up his face and then held Nick's ruined shirt against his painfully throbbing nose.

He noticed, with a dull sense of surprise, a tattoo on Nick's lean, bare chest near his ribcage of a bird in flight. It was extremely faded to the point where there was no color besides the pale gray outline, but it was a magnificent image. The feathered creature was truly beautiful, detailed to perfection really, and held a very majestic air to it.

Jeff realized it was a dove.

Nick seemed to notice Jeff's leering and smiled vaguely. "What? You like what you see?" he teased softly.

Jeff smiled faintly through the pain. "I didn't know you had a tattoo," he pointed out feebly.

"I have a few," Nick replied. "But that doesn't matter. Can you walk? You _really _should get down to the hospital wing."

"Maybe." His voice was nearly a whisper.

Nick stood up and helped pull Jeff to his feet. When he stumbled, Nick steadied him with his hands on Jeff's shoulders. "You alright?"

Jeff winced, still clutching the now-bloodstained fabric to his face. "Everything hurts," he admitted in a hoarse undertone.

Nick frowned sympathetically. "I know what that's like," he mumbled.

"Do you?" Jeff said skeptically. He held himself up by winding his free arm around Nick's unclothed shoulders.

"Sure," Nick answered. He started down the hallway very slowly, supporting the limping Jeff against his lean frame. "I wasn't always the feared gang-leader I am today. When I first got here, I was a fourteen year old boy barely through puberty. The other guys were _brutal. _I got bloodied up more times than I can even remember."

While that made a lot of sense, Jeff was still somewhat surprised to learn that Nick, the toughest guy at Dalton, had ever been at the bottom of the food chain. Most of the guys here, however, were well over the age of fourteen, so it made sense that someone so young and probably small would get some harassment. Jeff felt a prick of sympathy. He wondered what it had been like for Nick, being sent here at such a young age?

Nick went on. "Luckily for me, most of the guys who knew my prepubescent-self got released sometime around my sophomore year here. It took me a while to get to where I'm at today, but now, no one touches me. I mean, you saw Eric run away like a spooked animal when I showed up. He practically pissed himself." He laughed with self-satisfaction.

They stopped at the stairs suddenly and Jeff groaned inwardly. "Ugh. I forgot about the stairs…"

"Do you need to rest here for a moment before we head down?" Nick asked.

"It couldn't hurt," Jeff agreed thankfully. Nick helped Jeff sit down on the top stair before he lowered himself beside him. Jeff sighed and readjusted Nick's bloody shirt on his face. It would probably never be white again after today.

"So why _did _you show up, anyways?" Jeff asked curiously. "You're on house arrest."

"I heard what was going on," Nick answered. "It was happening right around the corner from our dorm, literally steps away. Neither of you were particularly _quiet…"_

"It would have saved me some pain if you could've shown up a little sooner," Jeff pointed out jokingly. He would have motioned to an injury, but there was no telling what injuries were the worst. He was afraid of how hideous he must look right now.

Nick was silent for a long moment, his face suddenly darkening. "I wish I had," he muttered. "I should have beat the shit out of that guy for what he did. Maybe I will."

"No!" Jeff protested quickly. "Darke said he'd send you to a penitentiary if you stepped out of line again. That guy isn't worth it."

"Do you _see _what he did to you?" Nick snapped. "I probably wouldn't even recognize you if I didn't know any better."

"So? Everyone here gets a beating eventually, right?"

"That doesn't matter!" Nick argued. "He singled you out because he knew you were an easy target. I know I did the same thing to Blaine, but I didn't do _half _the damage that Eric did to you. It's not right."

"Getting yourself sent to a _real _prison won't make it right! Please, Nick, just let it go," Jeff pleaded.

Nick hesitated for a long moment, glancing between Jeff's blackened eyes uncertainly until he finally sighed with defeat. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "But only because you need me around here to make sure your pretty face doesn't get bashed up again." He smiled slightly, but the anger was still burning behind the green depths. "I swear I won't let it happen again."

"You don't have to swear anything," Jeff said. "Don't feel like you have to protect me."

"I know I don't have to. I just want to." Nick seemed to decide that things were settled there. "So, think you're ready to tackle these stairs?

…

While his sides were sore and it hurt to walk without limping, the stairs weren't as bad as they looked. It definitely took quite a bit longer to get to the first floor than usual, but with Nick's assistance, it wasn't too terribly painful. They reached the hospital wing with very little difficulty once the staircase was behind them.

The nurse and doctor greeted him with surprised sympathy and quickly brought Jeff to the back room to lie down. They looked over his wounds—most of which were just bruises—and gave him ice packs to reduce the swelling around his face. They got his nose to stop bleeding within ten minutes. Nobody asked him any questions about what had happened to put him in this state and Nick stood off to the side as the doctor tended to Jeff's injuries.

"You're lucky," the doctor said as he examined Jeff's broken nose. "It's not crooked, so I won't have to re-straighten it. You'll just need some casting to help it heal."

"So I'm not going to have a deformed nose?"

"Nope. It'll look same as it always has in six weeks or so," he answered. He motioned for Jeff to hold the ice pack back up to his nose.

The nurse reentered the infirmary room with Principal Darke at her side, saying, "…and he's pretty battered up, but it's nothing really serious." They stopped at the foot of Jeff's hospital bed.

"How are you feeling, Jeffery?" Darke asked in his usual businesslike voice, but with just a touch of concern.

"Fine," Jeff lied. He was still in a lot of pain and they were reluctant to give him painkillers until he was 'stabilized.'

"He's got a broken nose, a cracked rib or two, and a lot of bruising," the doctor informed Darke. "We'll keep him overnight to reduce the swelling before we get him a cast for his nose, but he should be fine to return to class by Monday if need be."

Darke nodded. To Jeff, he said, "If you would like to take Monday off, you may." He glanced around the room until he spotted Nick in the corner. His tone was suddenly dark and severe. "Nicholas. It's hardly been a _week _since what you did to Blaine and now _this? _You're out of control. I don't know if I should even let you stay at Dalton anymore. Maybe a real prison will teach you the lessons you need to learn."

"_What? _I didn't do this!" Nick protested. He seemed absolutely affronted by the accusation. "I was the one who brought him here!"

"He didn't do anything wrong, Principal Darke," Jeff said. "Nick was just helping me."

Darke glanced back at Jeff as if he wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. "Then who did this?"

"Some guy named Eric," Jeff answered. "I don't even really know him."

"He's a senior," Nick spoke up.

Darke glanced back at Nick, blinking slowly. "And you were just 'helping' Jeff?" he echoed Jeff's words with something close to disbelief in his voice.

"Why so shocked?" Nick seemed offended. "You act like I'm incapable of a good deed."

"Well, you haven't exactly shown me otherwise until now," Darke pointed out mildly. "Why don't you follow me to my office for a chat, Nick? I need to phone Jeffery's family anyways to let them know what happened."

Jeff's heart skipped a beat. "Wait," he protested, his voice nearly faltering. "Please, d-don't call my parents. They don't need to know what happened. I'm fine."

Darke furrowed his eyebrows at the blonde inmate in confusion. "Why not? I'm _obligated_ to inform somebody in your family."

"Then call my brother," Jeff begged. "My parents have been through enough with me. I don't want to put them through any more trouble."

Darke stared at him for a moment longer before sighing in defeat. "I suppose that should work out. He _is_ over eighteen… Alright," he agreed.

"Thank you," Jeff breathed thankfully, feeling himself relax a little. His mother had just been here not even two hours ago ranting about what a disgrace he was. He didn't think she wanted to be bothered by him for a while yet.

Darke nodded in acknowledgement and started out the door. He gestured Nick to follow, which he did so reluctantly, leaving Jeff alone in the infirmary with the doctor and nurse.


	8. Cough Syrup

**I know it has been a while since I updated this, but this chapter is a bit longer than the others if that makes up for it!**

**I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

><p>The next morning, the nurse brought Jeff breakfast. "The doctor says you can leave later this afternoon once he's checked up on you," she told him as she placed a plate of golden waffles drizzled with maple syrup and topped with berries and whipped cream.<p>

For a moment, Jeff just stared at the food. It actually looked somewhat edible, unlike most of the food they served here. The maple syrup was thick instead of watery and the waffles were golden and crisp instead of soggy and yellow.

The nurse smiled pleasantly. "You get the good stuff in here," she told him with a wink. With that, she left him alone in the infirmary to run the hospital office.

Jeff frowned. He wished he was actually hungry, because this actually looked good. He settled for picking the blueberries off the top to eat, since a little food was better than no food at all.

Just as he forced down the last blueberry, Nick stepped through the infirmary doors.

Jeff sat up. "Nick?"

Nick held a finger to his lips. "Shhh. I don't really have permission to be here," he whispered, glancing warily around the room. "Darke won't leave me alone even though I'm technically off house arrest." He tiptoed to the side of Jeff's bed farthest from the door.

"He let you off house arrest?"

"Yeah. Apparently taking you to the infirmary showed 'good judgment' or something."

Jeff laughed quietly. "Well, I'm glad I could help?"

"I'd rather still be on house arrest than to see you suffer," Nick said in an almost dismissive tone a voice. Like it was no big deal to just say something like that.

It took a moment for Jeff to find his voice. "I'm fine," he stammered finally. "I'm not suffering. Not anymore, thanks to you."

"Alright, don't get cheesy on me, little dove," Nick teased. "What's done is done. At least Eric is being punished. He's on house arrest until further notice, at least… As if that means anything."

"Is that a new nickname for me?" Jeff asked with a small smile. He didn't want to talk about Eric right now—it made Nick too angry. "Dove?"

"Sure, why not," Nick answered casually. "I think it suits you."

"Why did you get a tattoo of a dove?" Jeff asked, remembering the faded tattoo on his chest from yesterday.

Nick laughed. "Hell if I know. I was stoned out of my mind when I got it," he answered airily. "I'm just glad it turned out alright."

So there was no story behind it. "Oh," Jeff said.

"Not surprised?" Nick said with a strange smile. "As you might have realized, I was high or drunk for the better part of three years. Reed thinks it was my way of avoiding reality or something…"

"Was it?" Jeff asked carefully.

"No," Nick muttered. "What would I have been avoiding? I had a good family life. Hell, I probably stole a few thousand dollars from my parents over the course of those three years, and they hardly punished me for it."

"Then why did you get so involved with drugs?" Jeff asked as innocently as he could. Weren't there usually underlying psychological problems behind early-age drug abuse?

Nick said, "If you've never been high before, I don't expect you'd understand. It just…_feels good."_

"That's it?"

"Like I said, you wouldn't understand." He suddenly changed the subject. "I see you haven't eaten your breakfast yet." His eyes were a little accusing.

Jeff frowned. "I'm not hungry."

"Are you ever?" Nick muttered. "I told you, you need to eat."

Jeff looked at the plate of cooling waffles in front of him. "I can't," he murmured plaintively.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Nick said.

"I don't know," Jeff muttered. "Forget it."

"Seriously, Jeff. What's wrong?" Nick demanded.

Jeff was a little taken aback. That was the second time Nick had used his actual name. He hesitated. "Honestly, I don't know," he answered finally. "It's like… I feel nauseous just thinking about eating. And every time I actually eat anything, it just makes me feel really sick."

"How long has this been going on?" Nick asked quietly. His green eyes were hard to read, but Jeff felt like there might be some concern there.

"Since I was first arrested, I guess," Jeff mumbled. "It's not really a big deal, though. It's not like I'm starving to death."

"You look pretty damn close to me," Nick pointed out. "Maybe you should tell Reed about this."

"Why?" Jeff suddenly felt defensive. "It's really not a big deal. I'm _fine. _It's not like I'm anorexic or something. It's probably not even a mental problem."

"Dr. Reed is here to help, you know," Nick pointed out. "If something really is wrong—which I think there is—then he'll get you the help you need."

"I don't need help," Jeff snapped. "And why should I spill _my_ guts to Reed when all _you_ ever do is treat therapy like some big joke?"

"Chill out there, blondie," Nick eased. "I never said anything about spilling guts. Like you said, it might not even be something psychological, which means it could be a physical problem. So it'd be best to get some sort of medical help."

It couldn't be psychological. Starvation only happened with anorexics, right? And Jeff wasn't preoccupied about his weight in the least. If he _could _eat, he would. So maybe Nick was right.

Still, he didn't want to tell anyone. That meant accepting that there was, in fact, something wrong with him. Jeff wasn't sure he was ready to do that yet. "It's my own business," he said to Nick. "I'll tell Reed if and when _I _want to."

Nick didn't look satisfied with this response, but he didn't argue anymore. "Fine," he gave up.

"I'm already working on it anyways," Jeff assured him. "I'm trying to gradually eat more, so I don't make myself sick."

"Alright, well… If you still have issues, I really recommend talking to Reed," Nick said. "I know I act like he's just a big joke, but he's really not bad. He's helped me with some things before, whether I like to admit it or not. And before you ask, no, I'm not telling you what they are."

"I knew you'd say that," Jeff said. Nick wasn't the type to talk about himself. Ever.

"I like to keep my demons to myself," Nick said dismissively.

Jeff decided that he didn't want to talk anymore. "You should probably get going soon," he told Nick. "The nurse will probably be back soon to check on me, and she said the doctor would be in soon. I wouldn't want you to get into more trouble right after you got off house arrest."

"Alright, blondie. I'll see you later, then," Nick said without protest. He started for the doorway, but stopped halfway around the bed suddenly. "But first…I wonder what kinds of medicine they have lying around back here…?" He went for the cupboard above the counter to investigate.

"Medicine?" Jeff echoed in confusion before he realized what Nick meant. "No! You can't do that!"

"Sure I can. You wouldn't turn me in, would you?" he said almost challengingly. "Let's see… gauze, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, aspirin, allergy pills, sleeping pills… Sweet!" he suddenly grabbed something from the cabinet. "A full bottle of cough syrup!"

"Nick, seriously," Jeff protested. "Put it away."

"Oh, come on, blondie," Nick sighed. "It's just cough syrup. It's not illegal. It's not dangerous. And it'll brighten my day a bit."

"It _is _dangerous because you're going to abuse it," Jeff said seriously. "You've been clean for years. Don't ruin it for a bottle of cough medicine."

"I honestly don't give a shit about staying clean," Nick muttered. "If I could get my hands on something better, I'd take it in a heartbeat. But I guess I'll settle for the cough syrup."

"Nick, please," Jeff protested. "Don't take it. Please, put it back."

"God, _it's just cough medicine!" _Nick snapped. "Why the hell does it matter so much to you if I take it? It's not like it's the worst drug I've ever done."

"I just can't stand to think of you doing that to yourself," he blurted out without thinking.

"It's not a big deal, pretty boy," Nick insisted. He wrapped the bottle in the sleeve of his jumpsuit, which he wore half-undone around his waist as usual with a white undershirt.

Perfect timing, too, because as soon as it was out of sight, the nurse returned. She opened her mouth to speak to Jeff when she noticed Nick. "Um, I don't think you're supposed to be back here," she told him uncertainly.

"Oh, I didn't know," Nick said very innocently. "I was just leaving anyways. Sorry." He didn't look at Jeff again and quickly retreated out the door.

The nurse looked at Jeff. "He didn't do anything back here, did he?" she asked in a serious whisper.

Jeff bit his lip. "No."

"He didn't take anything?" She went to the medicine cabinet and scanned its contents.

"I don't think so," Jeff lied. It was almost painful to do, considering what Nick planned to do with that cough medicine.

The nurse stared at the cabinet a moment longer before sighing and closing it. "What was he doing back here?"

"He was just visiting," Jeff said. He couldn't just sit around in here all day when Nick just made off with a full bottle of medication that may or may not cause him serious harm. "Um, can I go yet? I feel fine."

"The doctor wanted to check on you."

"You can call me back whenever he gets here," Jeff suggested. "I just… I have schoolwork I want to finish today." She still looked uncertain, so he added, "I'll stay in my room."

Finally, she agreed. She wrote his room number down and told him to stay there until further notice. He changed into a clean jumpsuit—since the one he wore yesterday was ruined by blood—and quickly headed out to the rec area. As usual, most of the school was busy with family visits and phone calls, so the room was pretty much empty. Nick was nowhere to be seen, so Jeff scaled the stairs quickly to their room.

Inside, sure enough, was Nick. He was on his bed on the top bunk, engrossed in a cigarette. "That was fast," he said idly. "Did you chase me up here?"

"Did you take the cough medicine?" Jeff demanded.

"Nah," Nick mumbled. "I was going to. But after you practically begged me not to, it made me feel guilty." He said it accusingly. "Thanks for that."

"Where is it?"

"I hid it," he answered simply. "Hell if I'm going to risk returning it. I'll save it for a rainy day or something."

"You shouldn't take it at all, ever," Jeff said seriously. "I don't care if it's over-the-counter. You're still going to use it like you would any other _illegal _drug."

"What if I promised you I won't take it?" Nick said suddenly. "I don't see what you're so worked up over, but if it really means that much to you, I won't touch it. But I'm not taking it back, either. Stealing medicine isn't something that's easily forgiven here."

Jeff was wary. "But you won't take it?"

"Scout's honor," Nick answered. "I hid it in Flint's old mattress if you ever feel the need to check on it to see if I keep my word."

That made him feel a little better. "Alright," he finally agreed, "Thank you." He didn't expect Nick would give up so fast. He was a little wary to believe him, but Nick hadn't given him reason to distrust him so far.

"Sure thing, blondie," Nick said

…

In Group Therapy that Monday, Dr. Reed collected everyone's essays as they entered the classroom. Today, the desks were pushed against the walls and all the chairs were arranged in a circle around the room. Everyone had seats that were pre-assigned by Dr. Reed and were outlined on a seating chart on the wall.

Jeff wasn't sure that it was a coincidence that he and Nick were seated beside each other. He wasn't complaining, though. Even at his worst, Jeff preferred Nick to most of the other guys here.

Once everyone had their seat, Dr. Reed started the class. He sat in an empty chair in the circle. "Today, we will be opening up to one another in a true group therapy session," he announced. Groans of protest met these words and Jeff felt suddenly anxious. "Anyone who decides not to participate will have to write me a two-page essay over a topic of my choosing." He looked around as if waiting for someone to take his offer. Several students looked expectantly at Nick.

Nick glared back defiantly. "What the hell are you all staring at?" he challenged.

"So I take it you're going to participate this time, Nick?" Dr. Reed asked calmly.

"Not if you're going to focus on me the entire time," he muttered.

So Nick didn't usually take part in Group Therapy. Somehow, that wasn't surprising.

Dr. Reed went on. "Alright, good. I thought we could start by talking about our weekend visits, so if anyone would like to volunteer to go first?"

No one moved.

"Luke," Dr. Reed said suddenly. "Why don't you start us off?"

The boy who Jeff assumed was Luke sat back in his chair coolly. "It was normal," he said. "My dad and bro visited me and my mom stayed home—probably popping pills and sleeping all day."

"Do you wish that she would visit?" Dr. Reed asked.

Luke shrugged. "I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Reed pressed. "Does it bother you when she sleeps all day like you said she does?"

Luke glanced around the room as if searching for judgmental stares from his assembled classmates. Warily, he said, "Why should it? I'm not home anymore, so it doesn't matter to me what she does anymore."

Dr. Reed nodded. "Did it bother you in the past?"

"No," Luke snapped. "God, just leave me alone!"

"Alright, Luke," Dr. Reed said evenly. He glanced around the room. "Seth, why don't you go next…?"

Reed went around the circle individually over the next fifteen minutes. Surprisingly, mostly everyone was willing to open up a little bit, and they were allowed to stop taking at any moment when they became uncomfortable. It was strange, really. For the first time, Jeff could see the human side of these "hardcore criminals."

"Jeff, did you have a family visit this weekend?" Dr. Reed asked.

Jeff frowned. "Yes," he answered uneasily. "My mom."

"How did that go?"

"Badly." He'd actually completely forgotten about it until now. He'd been too caught up with the pain of his physical injuries after Eric jumped him in the hallway.

"Why is that?" Reed asked.

"Things aren't going well back home, I guess," Jeff mumbled. "Thanks to me."

"Why do you think it's your fault?"

"She said that it was," Jeff answered quietly. "She said that I humiliated my family and my dad is depressed because of what I did."

All eyes were on him. Nick was staring at him with an expression that said, "Why am I _just now_ hearing this?"

"Things are always difficult at first when a family member is convicted of a crime," Reed assured him. "Maybe she just needs to come to terms with things. Do you think she'll forgive you eventually?"

"She never forgives me," Jeff said. "I always disappoint her somehow, and I think she just accepts it and forgets about it. But I don't think she will this time."

"Why not?"

Jeff was silent for a long moment. Could he go on further without breaking down or choking? He swallowed hard and unconsciously pressed his thumb into a bruise on his arm. "She…she said I'm not welcome home anymore."

A painful silence filled the room. Jeff pressed harder against the bruise when he felt his eyes begin to sting and focused on the pain.

Dr. Reed looked thoughtful. "Do you think she means that?"

"I don't want to talk anymore," Jeff said suddenly. His voice came out weak and plaintive, like a child's.

"Very well, Jeff," Reed said gently. He looked to Nick. "Would you like to talk about your most recent family visit, Nick?"

"I've never had a family visit," Nick said coolly.

"Why is that?" Dr. Reed asked, unfazed.

Nick shrugged. "Maybe my parents have better things to do."

"But they've tried visiting you before, on several occasions," Dr. Reed pointed out. "Why did you refuse to see them?"

The room fell deadly silent. All eyes were on Nick, and for once, Nick didn't seem to know what to do. With just a few simple words, Reed had unwittingly destroyed Nick's entire mafia reputation. He _wasn't_ the family-less mafia kid everyone had thought he was. Now, he was just a teenage boy with a family who, at one point, wanted to visit their son in prison.

Nick just sat there with dismay behind his green eyes. "Nick?" Reed said. "If you're uncomfortable with that question—"

Nick pushed to his feet very suddenly, toppling his chair to the floor with the force. "I'm done," he announced. His voice was sharp and threatening, like he was just daring someone to say something to him. He kicked his chair out of the way and it flew across the room and came to a loud, crashing halt against one of the desks by the wall.

Nick stormed off toward the door without another word. "Nick!" Jeff hissed after him in protest. But if his roommate heard him, he didn't acknowledge it.

The room was buzzing with whispers now. Dr. Reed was unfazed, however, and quickly pulled the room back under his control. "Quiet down! Group Therapy is still in session. David, why don't you go next...?"

…

The Warblers were frantic after Group Therapy. "Wait, does this mean Nick's family isn't with the mafia?"

"No shit, idiot."

"What if it ruins our rep?"

"It won't. It's not like he's a faggot or anything. He just isn't in with the mafia."

"He's _still_ the meanest bastard around here."

"He need to get his ass down here fast to fix this shit before it gets too far out of our hands."

Jeff's blood boiled as he listened. They only cared about themselves! The entire gang really _did_ depend on Nick to hold them up on his shoulders. Jeff couldn't imagine what that pressure might feel like at a time like this. "I'll go check our room," Jeff announced, breaking away from the group.

"Tell him to get his ass down to the rec room!" Wes demanded.

Jeff waved to show he heard as he headed for the stairs. He took the long way around the halls in order to avoid other Dalton students who would be more than happy to taste his blood until he reached room 236.

Inside, he found Nick pacing the room, cigarette in hand. He turned when Jeff entered. "Is Reed looking for me yet?" he asked right off the bat.

"I don't know," Jeff said. "Group Therapy just ended. The other Warblers are freaking out… are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Nick said bluntly. He smashed the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and threw it out. "Are _you _okay?" He turned and looked at Jeff very seriously.

Jeff blinked, confused. "Uh, yeah…?" he answered uncertainly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"What you said in Group Therapy. You never mentioned that before," Nick said.

"I actually forgot all about it," Jeff said. "My mom is always like that. My dad will probably be more understanding when I'm released. It's not a big deal."

"Are you sure?" Nick pressed on. "You seem pretty blue most of the time, and you said something about not being able to eat the other day. And…" Nick reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a tiny, silver razor blade. "I just found this hiding in the bathroom."

Jeff felt his heart sink. "Th-that's—"

"I know it's not mine," Nick said grimly. "So I assume it's yours? But you're not the type to use this on someone else."

He had a feeling he knew what Nick was insinuating. "What? No! Its mine, yes, but I've never _used _it, not on myself or anyone else!" he protested.

"Then why do you have it?" Nick demanded.

"I grabbed it when I stole all of that stuff from Darke's office," Jeff told him quickly. "I didn't even mean to, I just took whatever I grabbed first. I didn't trust any of the Warblers with it, so I kept it and I hid it in here. I couldn't think of any way to get rid of it without getting caught with it. It has never even crossed my mind to…to use it on myself. Or anyone else, for that matter. I swear." He unbuttoned his sleeve and pushed it up to expose his bare arm and extended it to Nick. "See? No cuts." There were a few bruises left from when Eric beat him up, but his skin was otherwise unmarked.

Nick examined Jeff's arm as if searching for some hidden self-injury, and when he found nothing, he seemed to relax. "Okay. Good," he said. He turned the razor over in his hand idly. "Why didn't you tell me you had this earlier?"

Jeff frowned. "I was afraid that _you _might use it on someone," he admitted. _You ARE here for stabbing someone, after all…_

Nick smiled faintly. "That's understandable, I guess," he acknowledged. "But I would never use a weapon. It would destroy my reputation around here, and you know all hell would break loose if that happened."

"Of course," Jeff mumbled. Fighting with bare hands was respected here. Using a weapon was considered cowardly. "What are you going to do about what happened in Group Therapy?"

Nick shrugged. "I'm not worried about it. I'm a little pissed off that Reed blew my mafia story, but it doesn't change anything. I'm still the toughest guy here and I'm not afraid to prove it to anyone who questions it," he said. "I _am _a little worried about you, though."

"Why? I thought we just went over this."

"When I found this thing, my _first _concern was that you might be using it to hurt yourself," Nick admitted. "And is it any wonder why? I _really_ think you should talk to Dr. Reed."

"About what? I'm _not _cutting myself!" Jeff snapped. "I never have and I never will. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I'm not saying that there is _anything_ 'wrong' with you," Nick insisted patiently. "I just…I think I would feel better if you just talked to Reed about what's been going on with you and the fact that you haven't been able to eat much of anything…"

"I don't _want _to," Jeff protested plaintively. He knew it probably sounded childish and pathetic, but he really didn't have any other excuses.

"What if I told you that I see Dr. Reed every so often for problems of my own?" Nick asked a little warily.

Jeff looked at Nick incredulously. "You talk to Dr. Reed?"

"Sometimes," Nick admitted. "That's why my private therapy sessions are so long, compared to yours."

"What do you see him for?" Jeff asked curiously.

Nick frowned. "Will you agree to talk to him if I tell you?"

He hesitated. Nick was willing to open up—even if just a tiny bit—about himself just for Jeff's sake? "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "I'll talk to Reed."

Nick nodded and looked at the razor, which he still held in his hand. "I've never told _anyone _this, so I expect you to keep it to yourself, alright?" he told Jeff with the hint of a threat in his voice.

"Of course," Jeff promised. "I wouldn't betray your trust."

"Good." Nick drew in a breath and wandered across the room a few feet away from Jeff. "Well… I see Reed at least once a month—sometimes a little more—because I…" he trailed away for a long moment and took in another deep breath. "…I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," he admitted finally.

Jeff tried to keep his expression neutral despite his surprise. "You do? I never would have guessed," he said carefully.

"It's not the kind of thing you'd see on the surface," he replied. "I have nightmares _every night _andDr. Reed says my anger issues and drug use are my ways of coping with it when I'm awake. Sometimes I get flashbacks if someone says something that reminds me of... of what happened to me. But it's been getting better, I think."

"What happened?" Jeff asked quietly. "If you don't mind me asking…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Nick murmured. "I'd rather not get into the finer details."

"Okay, I understand. Sorry," Jeff apologized. Nick seemed like such a strong person. What could have possibly happened to him that was so horrible? He wanted to know, but it really wasn't any of his business.

"It's fine," Nick reassured him. "But I don't want you to feel sorry for me. And I don't want you to look at me any differently now that you know. I'm still the same person I've always been."

"I know. Thanks for telling me," Jeff murmured. "If you ever want to talk about this—or anything else—I'm here to listen."

"Don't get all touchy-feely on me, blondie," Nick warned good-humoredly. "But thanks for the offer. If anyone else here knew about it, they'd probably take it as a sign of weakness. I don't even want to know how it would affect my rep…"

"I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, I promise," Jeff insisted.

"I know. I'm not worried about you telling anyone. I trust you." He held up the little razor. "Since we really can't get rid of this without one of us getting in serious trouble, I'm going to hide it in Flint's old mattress. That way, we can pretend like we've never seen it before in our lives if someone finds it."

"Good idea," Jeff said. Maybe he should have thought about that. Nick might have never found it if he'd done that to begin with.

Nick moved across the room back to Flint's old mattress. "So you're going to go see Dr. Reed now, right?" he asked as he searched for a good place to hide the razor.

"Right now?" Jeff frowned. They _had _made a deal. He couldn't just back out and say he'd changed his mind.

"There's plenty of time," Nick pointed out. "We have, like, an hour before dinner and four hours of rec time afterwards." He finally found a place for the razor and he tucked it away. "I'll come with you, if you want," he offered.

Jeff shook his head. "No, you don't have to do that," he assured. "I'd rather go alone."

"Alright." Nick accepted that without a complaint. He approached Jeff again and didn't stop until he completely closed the space between his and Jeff's lips.

Although he was slightly caught off guard, Jeff didn't hesitate to close his eyes and return the kiss. It was briefer than the first two, but the touch of Nick's lips somehow put his mind a little more at ease.

When the kiss was broken, Nick offered up a small smile. "Good luck."

…

"So what's troubling you, Jeff?" Dr. Reed asked Jeff in his office.

Dr. Reed hasn't asked for any explanations when Jeff approached him and asked, "Can I talk to you about something?" He readily agreed and took him to his office. It was a warm room with a splash of color as opposed to every other room in this facility. There was a sofa against the wall which Reed had told Jeff to sit on, while he took a seat at an armchair across from him. There was a large, neat desk on the other side of the room and a locked filing cabinet beside it.

"Um… well, it's hard to explain," Jeff began slowly. But it really wasn't hard to explain at all. He just didn't want to do it.

"Well, do your best to explain and I'll try to keep up." Dr. Reed smiled reassuringly.

Jeff sighed. "Alright. Well… since right before I got here, I've… been having some trouble with eating."

"Trouble with eating?" Reed echoed. "How do you mean?"

Jeff shrugged. "I just haven't been able to do it. To eat," Jeff admitted. "It makes me feel sick. I haven't finished a whole meal in the entire time I've been here."

"Do you think it's because of the food we serve here?" Reed asked.

"Not really," Jeff said honestly. "When I was in the hospital wing, they gave me waffles that looked like they'd be delicious. But I couldn't eat any of it. I literally only managed to eat a few blueberries before I felt nauseous."

Dr. Reed nodded understandingly. "I see," he murmured. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? It's just so I can get a better picture. Right now, I don't know enough to determine if this is a mental or physical problem you're experiencing."

Jeff shrugged again. "Sure," he agreed uneasily.

Dr. Reed retrieved a clipboard and pen from his desk. "First of all, have you noticed any other unusual or upsetting symptoms?"

Jeff considered that. "I don't know. I don't think so," he mumbled. "Symptoms like what?"

"Like… have you been sleeping well at night? Do you have any nightmares, or trouble focusing during the day, or are you often tired?"

"I sleep fine," Jeff answered. "And I don't get nightmares. But I do feel sort of weak and tired most of the time. I figure it's because I'm not eating…"

Reed nodded and scribbled something down on the clipboard. "Do you usually go to sleep before or after lights out?"

"Before, I guess... I go to sleep around 9 or 10 most nights."

"Would you say you're in a good mood very often?"

"No." Jeff almost laughed as he answered. The only time he was in a "good" mood was when he was alone in his dorm with Nick. "I haven't exactly been enjoying my stay here."

"Then how would you describe your typical mood?" Reed asked

Jeff thought about that. "I don't know. I don't really have one certain mood. I just try to get through every day in once piece."

Dr. Reed took some notes at that. "Would you say you often feel sad or down in the dumps? Or perhaps angry?"

Jeff frowned. "Not angry. But I feel sad sometimes." In fact, waking up in the morning filled him with dread many days. The only reason he made it through every day was thanks to Nick, honestly. But he couldn't really tell this to Reed without possibly telling him something Nick might not want him to know.

"Do you get along with your classmates?" Reed went on.

_You mean inmates? _"Not really… Most of these guys would rather beat me up than be friends with me."

Dr. Reed grimaced sympathetically. "I know a lot of the boys here can be violent, but you'd be surprised at how many of them there are that are friendly."

"I haven't seen many of those," Jeff mumbled.

"Maybe you haven't been looking very hard?" Reed suggested.

"Maybe," Jeff muttered doubtfully.

Dr. Reed sighed softly and carried on with the questioning. The session went on for quite a long while. He asked things like, "How are your grades doing? What are your dreams for the future, and do you think you can achieve them? What is your relationship like with you parents? Your brother? Would you say you're a pessimist or an optimist? Did you get along well with your peers before Dalton? What were your hobbies before Dalton, and what are your current hobbies...?"

Eventually, Dr. Reed finally wrapped it up. "Alright. I think I've learned enough to make a diagnosis," he said.

"So soon?" Jeff asked with surprise.

"I don't think you're suffering from anything physical," Dr. Reed assured him. "If you're still concerned, however, we can do some blood testing to put your mind at ease."

"Then what the heck is wrong with me?" Jeff demanded.

"I think you're suffering from depression," Dr. Reed told him honestly in a straightforward yet gentle voice.

"_Depression_?" Jeff echoed disbelievingly. He wanted to protest and insist that it must be something else. But now that he was considering it, depression made an awful lot of sense. He'd studied it in Health class at his old school and a lot of the symptoms were there.

"Don't worry. Depression is very treatable and you came to me before things got too bad," Dr. Reed reassured him. "I can prescribe some antidepressants for you to take by tomorrow if you'd like and I'll probably have you come in a little more frequently for private therapy."

Jeff didn't argue. "I just thought I had to get used to this place and I'd start feeling better," he mumbled. "Are you sure its depression?"

"I'm pretty positive," Dr. Reed told him. "And I think it may have been going on even before you got arrested. It's just…gotten a little worse since then."

_But I could still eat then. _But when he thought about it, he never had much of an appetite lately. He only ate when he started feeling too weak from lack of nutrition to carry on much longer. Eating had become like a chore for him. And he couldn't really recall a time when he felt really _happy _for the last few months, even when he still lived at home. He preferred to spend much of his time at home locked up in his room, and that didn't seem to have changed since he was admitted here.

A part of him was relieved. Dr. Reed's diagnosis explained a lot, and it meant that he wasn't physically ill. And although he would rather have left here with no diagnosis at all, he'd always known that there had to be _something _wrong with him. He just didn't want to admit it.

Jeff nodded in understanding. "Okay. Thanks, Dr. Reed," he murmured.

The session wrapped up with Dr. Reed weighing Jeff on a scale and ordering him to report to his office for meals starting tomorrow to "help him get his weight up." He told Jeff that he would look into antidepressants. "If you don't want to start on antidepressants right away, we can try weekly therapy sessions instead," he offered.

"I don't care. Whatever you think is best," Jeff mumbled apathetically.

"Well, a little mix of both usually yields the best results," Dr. Reed told him. "We can discuss this further tomorrow during breakfast. You should head down for dinner and try to eat something for now, though."

Jeff hadn't realized just how long this meeting had lasted. He said goodbye to Dr. Reed and ducked out of his office. He made sure that he wasn't watching him when he skipped the corridor that lead to the cafeteria and went straight back upstairs to his room.

He expected for Nick to be down at dinner and that he'd have a little alone time to let this sink in, but to his surprise, Nick was still in their room.

"Hey, blondie," he greeted casually from where he sat with his legs hanging over the top bunk. He had an almost-smoked out cigarette held between his fingers and the room was filled with the stench of it. "How'd it go? You were gone for over an hour."

Shoot. He forgot that he'd have to explain this to Nick. In response, he shrugged. "It was alright… It felt like I was in a normal appointment with a psychiatrist." He closed the door behind him.

"I know what that's like," Nick remarked. He took one last puff on the cigarette and smashed it against the sole of his shoe before jumping to the ground. "What'd he think?"

Jeff hesitated and wandered over to Flint's old bed and sat on the bottom bunk. "Dr. Reed says that I have clinical depression," he admitted straightforwardly. There was really no point in hiding it. He couldn't bring himself to look up at Nick, so he turned his gaze down to his lap. "You can say 'I told you so' now…"

Nick was silent for a long moment before coming to sit by Jeff. "I wouldn't do that," he said softly. "I just wanted you to get the help you need."

Jeff looked over at Nick. His green eyes were nothing but compassionate and understanding. He knew what this was like, to have a mental disorder. And now they had something in common. "I know," Jeff murmured. "Thank you."

"You're taking it a lot better than I did," Nick said with a tiny smile. "Reed was the one who diagnosed me with PTSD, and I threw a fit. I convinced myself that he was just a fraud and that there was nothing wrong with me. I was in denial for months."

"I'm guessing you came to terms with it eventually?" Jeff guessed.

"I had to," he said. "I'd been suffering from it for years. I kept avoiding it in other ways, but when I was arrested and thrown in here, I lost most of my coping methods. My first year here was hell, what with the withdrawals I was going through. My PTSD got so bad that I couldn't even sleep at night and I was getting horrible, vivid flashbacks every day. I couldn't focus. Eventually, I had a breakdown one day and I cried like a bitch in Reed's office." He scoffed at himself. "I was a freaking train wreck."

"That sounds like hell," Jeff mumbled. He couldn't even _imagine _Nick crying. The thought of it made his heart twist. "I guess I'm lucky I haven't been going through this for as long as you have…"

"I didn't _have_ to suffer as long as I did," Nick pointed out. "I was too proud to admit that I wasn't alright. I thought it was a weakness. You have no idea how much better things got immediately after I got the help I'd needed."

"You said it had gone on for years," Jeff pointed out. "When did it happen?"

"It? You mean my traumatic experience?" Nick guessed. "I don't really remember, actually, and I don't really care to try. The few things I _do _remember are horrifying enough."

"Oh. I understand," Jeff said. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"Thank you," Nick murmured. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "I'm feeling a little better than I was before, actually. Thanks to you." He looked into Nick's deep green eyes. "You know, you're a lot softer than you let people believe."

"Soft?" Nick smiled faintly. "Maybe a little… But only for you."

* * *

><p><strong>Review and let me know what you think! <strong>


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